Testing the Boundaries
by Wizard of night
Summary: When Albus Potter begged the Sorting Hat, "Anywhere but Slytherin", a house that hasn't existed for centuries wasn't what he had in mind. Rowan Yewbeam is no normal wizard, so he doesn't mind being in Arkenshaft. He came to Hogwarts hoping for adventure, but murder is more than he bargained for. Join Rowan, Albus, and their friends as they learn how secure the new world really is.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Yes, a new story! Hopefully, one that will turn into a series, too. I'm aiming for an update every Monday evening. This might be a little ambitious, but I will honestly try. I've got great things planned for this charachter, so keep your eyes open! Enjoy!_

**Testing the Boundaries**

**Chapter One:**

"Hey, Birthday Boy, you're up early."

Warm morning sun paled the olive green walls and hardwood floor of the kitchen of the corner house on winding Windenbrook Lane, and the chirp of birds floated down towards the windows, open in hopes of a cool breeze to break the summer heat that had settled in the house like a smothering blanket and which the gradually cooling temperatures brought on by the leisurely approach of September had not yet chilled. Rowan Yewbeam, standing at the stovetop against one wall with his back to the door, waited a moment to acknowledge his mother's greeting.

In that moment, slow, heavy footsteps of someone carrying something heavy graced the stairs just beyond the kitchen door, and his stepfather's voice, still foggy with sleep, called, "Norah? Do I smell- Hey, Rowan! Pancakes? Wow, buddy, you went over the top this morning! You're supposed to let your Mum'n me cook on your birthday!"

At the exact moment he crossed the threshold, Rowan's half-brother Nathaniel in his arms, Rowan lowered the griddle's heat as far as it allowed without putting the flame out and turned to face the rest of the room.

"Good morning, Mum, Jack, Nathaniel," he greeted seriously. "Have a seat, there's something I need to tell you."

His mother, Norah, and stepfather, Jack, exchanged glances. Then, without preamble, they pulled wooden chairs from the round kitchen table and sat down, three year old Nathaniel passed over the scratched wooden surface so Norah could hold him. When Rowan had an announcement, they knew it was time to listen.

Rowan Atticus Yewbeam was smaller than many other ten or eleven year old boys. He was short and thin, with bony limbs and a pale, heart shaped face. His hair, precisely the color of caramel, fell in waves across his forehead and curled around his ears, but never strayed near his collar at the back. Perhaps his most intriguing feature, however, were his eyes. Framed by long, dark lashes, they shone brightly, never the same shade of grey two days in a row. The color shifted with his mood, and what he was seeing. For there had never been any doubt to his parents; Rowan saw things others didn't. Indeed, Rowan did a lot of things others couldn't. It was a fact they had long since accepted. But it was this that made them listen closely when their son confronted them so somberly, and so early in the morning.

"Mum, Jack, in exactly two hundred and thirteen minutes, the doorbell is going to ring."

"Alright," Jack said, carefully watching the boy's face. Often, Rowan knew more than he let on, though he never held back what they needed to know.

"I don't know who will be there, but I know it's a man. He wears… um… plaid flannel pants and a hand-knit vest with a tie...under a rain slicker? This has to be important, or I wouldn't know." He glanced up at them uncertainly, then at the window, through which sun shone brightly.

Jack was raising one eyebrow, but Norah, like her son, was better at hiding what she was feeling. "Go on, honey."

"It's confusing," he told them. "More confusing than usual, I mean. I can see the shapes really clearly, but I can't tell you what they mean."

"That's okay," Norah reassured him. She knew her son well enough to know that if he was telling her one of his visions, she needed to know.

"This is also unusual because it's constantly in the back of my mind. It's not just flashes, like usual, it's there. Just as clearly as you're… here, I just have to look in a different way." He hesitated, waiting for her nod to go on as she processed this information.

"This man has news, Mum. Good news, but… it makes you cry. You feel happy, but it's not happy crying, if you know what I mean. It's like… you understand now. The man's seen this happen before, but we're… interesting to him. More interesting than he expected."

Norah listened to her son struggle to put what he could see into words. She'd explained what was happening to him the best she could before, to her mother, who didn't understand it at all, and to Jack, who tried. She'd given an extremely abridged version to his kindergarten teacher, who'd thought they were slightly insane, his first grade teacher, who had actually been amazingly good about it, and his second grade teacher, who'd attempted to demand an exorcism. They'd given up after that.

It was too hard to explain, anyway.

"He knows when something's happening," she'd told Jack only days after they'd gotten engaged and he'd experienced his first 'Rowan-Prophesy'. "He tells me he sees shapes and colors, and he understands feelings."

Jack had cocked his head, staring at the three year old boy who sat in his blue pajamas across the very same kitchen table, coloring a very strange, very beautiful, very realistic picture of a wedding in crayon on a pad of paper and softly humming the tune to a jovial wedding march.

"But how did he know… did he hear us talking?" he'd asked.

Norah had shrugged. "He just knows. He's never been wrong before."

And Jack had learned to accept that. Just as he'd learned to accept, months later, that Rowan could fly. That had come as a surprise to both of them. And that objects came to Rowan from across rooms. And that Rowan could sing the words to songs he'd never heard before. And that Rowan had the uncanny ability to hold hour-long, completely silent conversations with the elderly family dog.

"Is that… normal?" Jack had asked, cocking his head at the seven year old boy, sprawled on the floor so that he could hold eye contact with the greying German-Shepherd mix, occasionally nodding, rolling his eyes, or giving an odd sort of snort.

"Is anything else in this house?" Norah had replied lazily from the sofa, one hand on her pregnant belly.

So it was easy for Jack to nod encouragingly along with his wife as Rowan informed them worriedly, "This is going to be something big, I can feel it. Nothing is ever going to be the same again."

He had also grown used to such profound statements from a mouth that had not yet lost all of its baby-teeth.

"We'll get through it, Row-man," Jack told him, trying to show his step-son that while he was not taking what he had expressed lightly, he wasn't going to climb the walls in panic either. And he wasn't. With Rowan, what was coming would come. And that was that.

So Jack stood to help Rowan save the pancakes, which had begun to smoke slightly over the large pan on which he was frying them, and then made bacon. Norah poured drinks; apple juice in a Sippy-Cup for Nathaniel, milk for Rowan, coffee for herself and Jack. Nathaniel set the table, forgetting knives but managing not to break any of the plates his mother handed him. And then they sat down to breakfast like any other family.

Even so, Rowan glanced at the clock every few minutes, and once in a while he closed his eyes, letting himself take a look at whatever images were streaming through the back of his mind.

But if he'd learned anything new, he didn't choose to share.

Two minute and thirty seconds before the man with the rain slicker was due to arrive on their doorstep, he positioned himself at a window with a view of the front door, waiting to catch a glimpse of his vision in the flesh.

Norah peered anxiously over the top of his head, parting the curtains further to get a view of the street beyond.

"He'll not be coming by car, Mum," Rowan told her, but she didn't seem to hear him.

As always, though, he was absolutely right. Though Norah kept a steady eye on the drive, no taxi cab, BMW or bicycle parked there, and yet at precisely the time Rowan had predicted, the three note tune of the doorbell echoed through the front hall, and there Rowan was to answer it, his eyes wary.

"Good morning, Professor Evander," he greeted before Norah and Jack had even reached the door, and as Jack pulled it open further than the crack Rowan had allowed for, he thought the tall, stocky man standing there in the promised plaid pants and knit sweater-vest might fall off the stoop in shock.

"Well, well, well," the man said, his expression bemused as he straightened and peered down at Rowan. "Young R. Yewbeam, I presume. Might I ask whereupon you came by my name?"

"If I could ask _whereupon _you came by mine," Rowan said defiantly.

"_Rowan_," Norah reprimanded as she took a closer look at the man, thus identified as Professor Evander. He had a kind, slightly lined face, with a helmet of snow-white hair and a pair of rounded silver spectacles protecting twinkling dark brown eyes.

"Ah, Madam Yewbeam," he acknowledged. "Ted Evander, at your service. Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I can't tell you how pleased I am to make your acquaintance."

"School of… Witchcraft and Wizardry, sir?" Norah said quizzically, still not moving from the doorway.

"Yes, Mum," Rowan said quietly. "Professor Evander is a wizard."

Professor Evander seemed surprised. "Could it be…," he murmured, more to himself than to the Yewbeams, and then his eyes flashed, and he stared straight at Rowan. "Do invite me in, young man. I believe we have much to talk about."

And out of the pocket of his vest, where Norah was sure there had been no pocket before, came an envelope, made of thick, heavy cream-colored parchment. It read in neat, violet hand:

_Rowan A. Yewbeam_

_The Attic Bedroom_

_18 Windenbrook Lane_

_Baycliffe, England_

"May I, Mum, Jack?" Rowan asked, his face utterly expressionless.

"Follow your intuition, Rowan," Norah replied a little faintly.

Rowan stared at Professor Evander for an abnormally long period of time, his head tilted to one side, his face blank but his eyes shining, shining like molten silver.

Finally, he decided, "He is who he says he is, Mother."

At this slightly unnerving revelation, the Yewbeam family stepped backwards, allowing the Professor across the threshold.

Nothing indeed would ever be the same again, for Rowan, or for the world.

* * *

Hours later, across the country in a cottage, a very particular cottage that was far larger than it looked from the outside, a sitting room fireplace came to life with a flare of blazing emerald and a sputter of sparks, and out tumbled a tall, dark form tangled in his travelling cloak, the words _Phoenix Chalet, Godric's_ _Hollow_ dying on his lips as he straightened, adjusted his mahogany Auror cloak and, without turning to face the woman curled cat-like on the couch, announced firmly; "One of these days, Gin, I will manage to use that floo without coming out looking like I dueled a Death Eater."

She laughed softly, standing and crossing the room to peck her husband on the cheek and straighten his askew glasses. "I reckon you've had a quarter-century to adjust by this point, Harry. When do you plan to learn?"

But the humor in her voice came with an edge, and she hugged him a little too long, breathing deeply as she nestled her fiery red head into his shoulder.

"You worry too much," Harry told her gently, tightening his own grip on her for but a moment before carefully prising her off, looking into her eyes as he testified, "I'm alright, see?"

Ginny's lips tightened for but a moment before she nodded, a smile creeping back up her face as she asked, "What kept you?"

"That," Harry said as he smiled himself, "Is a long story, honey, and I'd like the rabble to hear it too… _BOYS?_ LILY, COME DOWN A SECOND."

He waited a moment, then grinned at the sound of thundering feet from above.

"Daddy!" Lily squealed, the first downstairs as always, and the only one still willing to launch herself into his arms and hug tight, her silky red hair streaming out behind her.

"Dad! Dad, guess what? You'll never guess, Dad, guess what?" Albus chattered as he flew downstairs, his socked feet muffling the noise on the stairs.

"I bet I will," Harry muttered under his breath to Ginny, who smiled warningly at him as he turned to face his next oldest child as he galloped into the room and right up to his father. "What's up, Al? Sounds exciting…"

"Oh, Hogwarts letters came today," James announced casually, sauntering into the room behind the other two and leaning against the doorframe. James was the only one of Harry's children who appeared to have a chance of inheriting the Weasley side's taller stature. Though he was a mere eighteen months older, James was at least a head taller than Albus, with a typical mass of Weasley freckles beneath his unruly mop of short dark hair and hazel eyes.

"James!" Albus shouted, turning next to his father. "Dad, can't you do something? He always goes and spoils _everything_."

"Now, boys…" Ginny warned.

"Yes, Mum," Albus murmured.

"_Yes_, Mum," James sneered, rolling his eyes.

"Don't take that tone with your mother, James Sirius, or I'll see to it that you never step foot in Hogwarts again," Harry snapped before adjusting his tone and turning to the pouting eleven year old boy stood before him. "That's wonderful, Albus, I'm so glad you've been officially accepted. We'll have to take you to Diagon Alley soon, and see that you get a proper pet to take to school with you!"

"_Alright_, Dad!" Albus cried gleefully.

"But what about Roger?" Lily asked curiously from her spot latched onto her father's arm, her shoulder length red hair swinging around her face.

"I can't take a _Puffskein_ to school, Lily, I'll be laughed at," Albus said importantly.

"You'll be laughed at anyway," James leered under his breath.

"_Dad!_" Albus cried at the same time Ginny snapped "_James!_"

"Come now, boys," Harry said, forcing himself into a cheerful manner. "Dinnertime, isn't it? What's cooking, Ginny? It smells _fantastic_."

"Minestrone Soup," Ginny supplied, guiding James towards the kitchen. "I figured it was _just _cooling down enough for me to get away with it, and wasn't James kind to offer to help me set the table?"

"I- but- Mum, I was busy doing-" He fell silent under his mother's glare, and irritably slouched into the kitchen, making such a racket with the drawers and the cutlery that Ginny was forced to go after him, casting a silencing charm around the kitchen as she did so.

It was not until the whole family was seated around the dinner table, soup in bowls and steadily being eaten that Harry managed to get a word in edgewise, around Lily bemoaning her own desire to go to Hogwarts and Ginny snapping at James to stop slurping and for Merlin's sake, he was dribbling soggy bread all over.

"So, I talked to Ted today-," he began.

Lily perked up immediately. "Good! Will he be coming for dinner tomorrow, then? We've not seen him in nearly a week!"

Harry stared at her in confusion before realizing; "Not Teddy Lupin, sweetie, Ted Evander, the Charms teacher at Hogwarts."

"Teddy is coming over tomorrow night, though," Ginny mentioned as James said in disgust, "Yeah, _Asher's_ grandfather…"

"Come now, James, Asher Evander is a fine boy," Ginny said, changing gear.

"He's a prat, Mum-" James began.

"As are you-," Albus intercepted.

"Quiet, Albus, you need to-"

"And a pureblood fanatic-,"

"That's ridiculous, Ted's half-blood as it is. As I was saying-"

"Yeah, but Asher doesn't seem to know it, does he? Last year, the one time, he went right up to my friend-"

"Dad, doesn't Asher have a brother in my year? Do you reckon he'll be nice?"

"Well," Lily tried, "If Asher's a prat but Professor Evander is nice, then-,"

"Asher used the "M" word, Dad!-,"

"And if-,"

"FOR MERLIN'S SAKE!" Harry roared. "IS IT IMPOSSIBLE FOR THIS FAMILY TO HAVE A CONVERSATION WITHOUT INTURRUPTING EACH OTHER HALF A HUNDRED TIMES?"

His children stared at him in shock. Ginny concealed a grin by lifting a slice of bread to her mouth.

"-Er, what were you saying, Dad?" James ventured finally.

Harry cleared his throat, leaned back in his chair, and continued with a raised eyebrow, "As I was _saying_, and you'll find this most interesting, Al, Ted came to me in a frenzy at the end of the work-day today, and I stopped to listen because I knew he'd been paying visits to the incoming muggle-born first years all day today, which usually provides some interesting tales. But he reckons he's found a Sorcerer."

"A Sorcerer?" Ginny asked. "Really?"

"He says it's all there," Harry said. "His eyes change color, and he knew Ted was coming before he even opened the door."

"What's a Sorcerer, Daddy?" Lily asked.

"They're _monsters_," James breathed. "They can breathe fire, and fly without brooms, and perform magic without wands. Even the babies can perform Legilimency, and they can tell the future, without a crystal ball or anything."

Lily and Albus's eyes were wide.

"Don't be ridiculous, James," Harry said. "Sorcerers are most certainly not monsters."

James dropped his voice to a ghost-story whisper. "They say they can't control their magic when emotions are running high, though. They just _snap_, and then… _anything can happen_."

"You're exaggerating," Harry said firmly. "Sorcerers are wizards or witches, just like you or me," he explained to Albus and Lily. "There magic is just wired differently, a little closer to the surface, you might say. Some of what James says is true; they do have some extraordinary talents. I've never met such a young one, though. I can only imagine what an experience Hogwarts will be for him… they say Sorcerers can have problems with the more… orthodox methods of magic. They're very independent, they tend to teach themselves magic better than any professor."

"Wait…" Albus said. "This Sorcerer- is eleven? He's only eleven, and he can do all that stuff? He can do all that stuff, and he's going to school with _me_?"

"Albus," Harry said firmly, "I don't know the name of this child. I don't even know for sure if he's a boy or a girl. But he- or she, I suppose, is just that- a child. Just like you, just like Rose, just like every other boy and girl in your year. It's going to be a large year, by the way. Over sixty children are registered; they're talking about expanding the dorms again, and they haven't done that since before your grandparents were at school- although they've been considering it these past few years as well. Anyway, this is going to be a pretty scared kid. His parents and the school are still deciding whether to try and keep his abilities secret for a time, but it is inevitable that the truth will come out before long, and when it does- before it does, even- that is going to be one lonely child.

"Just imagine it, Albus. You're a muggle-born. You've never even heard of magic before, but since the moment you were been born, you've been _different_. People single you out. They stare at you. They come to expect strange things from you, and then shun and terrify you when they occur. It's nothing you can help. It's natural for you. But it's unnatural for the rest of your world."

The table had suddenly gone very quiet. Everyone had stopped eating. Albus, the object of this speech, sat enthralled, and a little frightened.

"You're ready for an explanation, you've been waiting for an explanation your whole life, and so have your parents. Merlin only knows what this kid's parents have been thinking this whole time. Some parents are fantastic about it, but some abandon their children. Some can't stand the thought of magic. I once came across the case of a boy who had been caged weekly before a council of monks while they tried to terrorize the devil inside him- the poor kid needed therapy for _decades_. And this was just a typical wizard! Then comes this explanation, but nothing's clearer! Why? Because even amongst wizards and witches, _you don't fit in_. You can do things they can't, and just like with muggles, they're afraid. Maybe they're a little jealous. And they hate you for it! That's society today, doing nothing but ostracizing you for being who you are!"

Harry quieted. "And all this," he said softly, "For a kid _your age_, Albus."

There was absolute silence.

Finally James broke it with a slow, steady clap. "Have you considered a job as a motivational speaker?" he wise-cracked.

The joke fell flat. No one laughed.

"Check out your chocolate frog card collections, sometime," Ginny suggested.

Harry nodded. "Nicholas Flamel, the creator of the philosopher's stone" he said softly. "Some believe Albus Dumbledore, for whom you were named, Albus. And Dung Ba Nguyen, the Vietnamese President during the First Wizarding War, Malachi Callistar, inventor of the Imperious curse. Going back a bit, Arkenshaft, Agrippa, Merlin, and Paracelsus. Some even believe Morgana. And, of course, Lord Voldemort."

James froze.

"There's some controversy about Voldemort, actually. He hasn't yet been officially named. Why did he rely on his wand so much, if he was a sorcerer, they ask. Of course, towards the end of the war, he rejected his wand for another's because of a… specific task, but before? Some don't think he was powerful enough."

This brought on some gasps. If _Lord Voldemort_ wasn't powerful enough to be a Sorcerer…

"This leads us to believe that there are different levels of power in a Sorcerer," Harry continued, a misty look in his eyes. "Some more powerful, some less. But no one's had the opportunity to really study a group of them, to figure out what exactly it is that sets them apart from the rest of us. Dumbledore wasn't the type to let himself be sat upon a stainless-steel table and examined, and Voldemort… Voldemort wasn't the sort of guy you strolled up to and asked for the _time_, let alone a full blown analysis in a room full of innocents."

Harry stopped there, considering for a moment. "Point being, though, Albus, keep an eye out for this kid, and be a friend, alright? He's got a lot stacked up against him."

Albus nodded solemnly, staring at his father in wonder. It wasn't often that Harry spoke like this, and Albus loved every minute of it. Even James kept interested, and he usually grabbed on to the sole topic of Quidditch.

One thing was for sure, though. Between his start at Hogwarts, this Sorcerer as a potential friend… or enemy, and whatever unknowns lay on the horizon, this was going to be an interesting year.

* * *

_Meanwhile, in a location no one could be quite sure of, in a round tower office, buried away on a shelf, an ancient mind focused on a task. The hat had made literally thousands of decisions in its long, long lifetime- of sorts-, and each had changed a life, taking that person and showing them what they could be. None of those decisions, not a single one, had held the potential this one did. But the hat knew. It could sense these things, and he knew what was coming. _The time to act was now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Testing the Boundaries**

**Chapter Two:**

The gentle sound of tinkling bells sounded as Rowan gently pushed on the glass and wood door of the old wand shop. _Ollivander's_, a sign above the faded awning read, _Makers of fine wands since 382 B.C._

_The man who runs this place must be ancient, _Rowan thought as he entered, peering nervously around.

The shop was dark and musty, and appeared to be utterly deserted, despite its fine condition.

Norah entered behind him, shuddering slightly. Her thin arms were laden with packages of his new school things. He set the bags he himself carried down near a bench sat by the door, taking in the room.

Each wall was made of wood, and lined with row after row of shelves, each carrying numbered boxes. The room was only about the size of a small bedroom, but the back wall had a doorway in each corner, through which he could make out through the dark and gloom a whole other storage room of sorts, full of more shelves, all with the same boxes. He was just pondering the sheer number of them, wondering if there could possibly be that many wizards and witches and (dare he think it) _sorcerers_ in the world when something at the back of the shop _moved_.

Through the darkness came a boy, only a few years older than Nathaniel, Rowan thought. He was short and bony, with a head of white-blonde hair that coiled away from his scalp like springs. He wore a dirty, patched brown apron over what appeared to be bright green overalls and muddy turquoise trainers, and was holding what looked to be a lump of wood and a small paring knife. He stopped at the doorway and peered curiously at them, his eyes wide and shining, tinted gold.

"Hello," Norah said a little nervously, peering down across the room at him. "Who are you, love? Where's your Mum?"

The little boy looked over his shoulder, back into the storeroom, where they could hear footsteps a moment later.

"That would be me," a voice announced cheerfully, and a woman, around the same age as Rowan's mother, joined the little boy at the doorway. She bent down and whispered something in his ear, and the little boy nodded dutifully before trekking to the furthest corner of the shop and sitting down, beginning to whittle at the lump of wood with his knife.

The woman strode to meet them by the door, and Rowan looked her quickly up and down. She had a lot of dirty blonde hair, pulled into a loose braid at the base of her neck and then wrapped around a few times to form a sort of knot. She was somewhat tall and quite slim, and though her eyes were as wide as the boy's and nearly as vacant, she had a kind smile.

"Luna Scamander," she said, offering her hand to Norah to shake. Norah's hands were still full of the cumbersome packages, but this did not seem to bother Luna Scamander in the slightest, and she waited patiently as Norah shifted boxes around in her arms, finally succeeding in freeing her right hand for a very brief handshake before she clapped it back to prevent the crate containing the cauldron (pewter, size 2) described on his supplies list, from tumbling to the ground. "Norah Yewbeam," she managed.

Luna smiled vaguely at them before turning to a desk between the two doors and beginning to shuffle papers around on it, clearly searching for something.

"Er… Ms. Scamander?" Norah said after a moment. "We're here about a wand for Rowan."

"Of _course _you are!" Luna Scamander exclaimed, turning to face them, appearing surprised. "And Luna, please."

"Well…Luna…. Should we choose one? From the boxes, I mean?" Norah asked.

"Don't be silly. You can't simply choose a wand," Luna said. At Norah's incredulous stare, she added. "I don't actually work here, you see. I'm only an assistant. Believe me, he needs an assistant. Wait for Mr. Ollivander, he'll be with you shortly."

Norah took this as an invitation to set down the parcels and make herself comfortable on the bench. After a moment, Rowan sat down beside him, and noticed his mother eying the boy in the corner. "He's not actually making a wand, is he?" she inquired after a moment.

Again, Luna seemed surprised. "Lorcan?" she asked. "Of course not! He's seven years old. We give him wood scraps sometimes, to do what he likes with. He's becoming quite the artisan, actually… Lorcan, sweetie, show Mrs. Yewbeam your work."

The little boy-_ Lorcan?_- smiled shyly and approached them, holding up the chunk of wood, from which what appeared to be a combination of a horse and eagle was emerging, intricately feathered wings spread from the wood, talloned legs reaching forward, curved beak glinting. "It's a hippogriff," he explained proudly, "Like Daddy and Sander are out seeing, right Mummy?"

It was beautiful work, far beyond the capabilities of the typical six year old. Not that Norah had the faintest idea of what a hippogriff was, though she could tell it was an excellent depiction of one.

"How wonderful," she told him, and at that moment, more footsteps could be heard from the storage room, and at the doorway appeared a young man.

Perhaps nineteen years old, tall and limber with tanned skin, kind grey eyes, and muscles bulging beneath the rolled sleeves of his striped dress shirt and fleece vest, the man smiled a brilliant smile, offering Norah a hand for a handshake. This time, she didn't hesitate. "Norah Yewbeam," she said, "And this is Rowan. We were interested in buying a wand."

"Of course you were," the young man replied. "That is the only reason one would enter this shop, is it not? I'm Emeric Ollivander," he added as an afterthought, "Taking over the family business, you might say. With the help of Luna, obviously, couldn't do without her…"

Lorcan cleared his throat.

"Nor Lysander, I suppose. He's very helpful, he really is…"

"Lorcan," Lorcan corrected helpfully, moving over to show Emeric his carving.

"Of course you are, it's Saturday, isn't it? And that carving's amazing, kid; I can almost feel it moving. Let me know when it's finished and I'll mount it for you, alright?"

Lorcan nodded eagerly, as Emeric continued. "And I know you're Lorcan, really. It's just so easy to slip up and call you by the wrong name, yes? It's part of being a twin. You two are so different, though, I'll always know in my head which one is which."

Lorcan nodded wisely. "Lysander has brown hair," he reminded him.

"Lysander doesn't believe in Crumple-Horned Snorcacks, paints instead of carves, and follows me around the storeroom asking questions instead of sitting quietly," Emeric corrected. "On that thought, no wonder I mixed you up. We've got customers, kid, you know the rules. In the storeroom or waiting noiselessly, okay?"

"Okay, Emeric," Lorcan said, lowering his head and pocketing his knife, ducking back into the doorway of the storeroom and watching with wide eyes what happened next, though he had surely seen it many times before.

"Alright, kid, your name's Rowan?"

Rowan nodded.

"Call me Emeric. I'm going to talk your ear off and do a few measurements, alright? Alright!"

A tape measure appeared from absolutely nowhere and at a few waves of Emeric's long, thin brown wand began to unravel earnestly, measuring Rowan from head to foot, then around his waist, then the length of his arms as Emeric said, "You're going to Hogwarts, I assume?"

Rowan nodded.

"Any idea what house you'll be in?" he asked.

"Houses?"

"Aha, muggle-born, are you? Good, good. There are four houses, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slyhterin, each with a set of properties. I'd tell you what they are and how you get sorted, but that would ruin the surprise. Oh- stand with your feet spread and arms out like an inferius, would you?"

"Inferius?"

"Like a zombie," Luna translated from the desk in the corner with a smile.

"Good, good. Which is your wand hand?"

"Wand hand?"

"Are you right or left handed?" Luna said without a glance in his direction.

"Er- ambidextrous."

"Really? How cool is that? We'll measure'm both, then, spread your fingers. Are you ready for Hogwarts? What's left to buy on your list?"

"Professor Evander- he's the man who came to tell us about Hogwarts, the deputy headmaster, said I'm allowed a pet. We still have to get one of those, I've always wanted one of my own. Especially since our dog died. And then-"

"Sorry If I'm interrupting, but bend down and touch your toes- careful, now," he added as Rowan bent so quickly his palms scraped the rough wooden floor. "Flexible kid, aren't you?

"And then, Mum said we could go for lunch." Rowan finished. "And I did gymnastics when I was younger, they said the same thing."

This time, it was Emeric's turn to glance towards Luna. "Tumbling, the best I understand it," she told him. "Lysander loves the stuff. Rolf took the boys to the Muggle Olympics the other year and he hasn't stopped turning flips since. One of these days, I swear he'll break his neck."

"Ah," Emeric said distractedly, now observing the distance between Rowan's armpit and knee. "Right," he said finally, and the tape measure curled into itself and fell to the floor with a clatter. "Lorc?"

Lorcan bounded to his feet immediately, discarding the knife and carving.

"Do me a favor; run into the storeroom and grab a handful of 11-34 X's, alright?"

"Got it!" Lorcan exclaimed excitedly, tearing off into the workshop. For a moment there was silence, then an ominous sounding crash echoed from somewhere in the depths of the room.

Everyone waiting in the shop winced.

A moment later, Lorcan appeared, carrying a towering pile of boxes. " S'okay," he said, peering around at them. "It wasn't wands, just Mummy's desk chair."

Luna breathed a sigh of relief.

"Here," Emeric said, selecting at apparent random from the pile of boxes and handing the wand inside to Rowan. It was average length and so pale it was nearly white. "Eleven inches, made of Spruce and with a phoenix feather core."

"That's the wrong one," Rowan told him.

"What do you mean?" Emeric asked.

"I mean, that's not my wand," Rowan said. "It doesn't feel right."

"That's understandable," Emeric said, studying it. "Do me a favor and give it a wave anyway, so I can get a sense of what another option might be."

"Give it a wave?" Rowan asked. "I'm not sure that's the best idea…"

He glanced back at his mother, and Norah recognized his panicked look. "Er-," she started.

"Trust me, it'll be fine," Emeric soothed them.

"Alright," Rowan said doubtfully, and he accepted the pale Sycamore wand, directed it at nothing in particular, and gave it a wave.

Something exploded like the blast of a cannon and a streaming bolt of flame shot from not the wand, but the palm of Rowan's hand, entirely engulfing the wand and searing a blazing hole through the wall of the shop above Luna's head. The force of the blast blew Rowan's hair back from his face, and when the flame cleared, the air was so clouded he could barely see a foot in front of him.

When the dust settled, Rowan rubbed a bit of what appeared to be soot off his nose, staring in embarrassment at Norah, Luna, and Emeric, all of whom were gaping at him. Emeric's mouth was hanging open slightly.

Lorcan, however, appeared unfazed. "He warned you," he informed Emeric pointedly.

Emeric closed his mouth, still staring incredulously.

"That was something else," he said finally.

Luna left her desk, glanced once at the gaping hole above her head, then approached Rowan.

"Rowan Yewbeam," she said quietly, crouching to eye-level. "Are you sure that you're _just_ a wizard?"

If Norah had looked petrified before, it was nothing to how she appeared now. Mr. Evander had warned them that there would be a great many people who would not react positively to what he was, which was why he should put forth an effort to keep it a secret.

But here, he didn't seem to have a choice. If he lied, he wouldn't be able to get the wand he clearly needed. It was the least he owed these people anyway, as he'd just nearly incinerated their shop.

"I'm a sorcerer," he squeaked.

Emeric's mouth dropped open again, wider this time. He looked apt to catch flies, to be perfectly honest.

Luna, however, nodded thoughtfully. "That explains it," she said, "You should have said so in the first place. That wand-, "she began as she pointed at his right hand.

Rowan glanced down guiltily. The sleek white wand was now smoking black and charred. He looked back at her worriedly.

"Oh, relax," she said indifferently, "And give it here."

She rubbed it on her shirt, turning it this way and that, and when she pulled it away it was white again, just as it had been before. "Spruce is a fairly resilient wood," she explained. "Anyway, this wand isn't equipped to handle your magic. Sorcerers require a bit…_more _of a tool through which to channel their magic when producing simple spells. We've got a special variety for you. We use a slightly different variety of cores, in fact, we usually double the cores, and the shape changes a little, so _that_-" she gestured behind her at the hole in the wall, "Doesn't happen in Charms class."

At this Lorcan's face lit up, and he bounced over, grinning brightly. "Mummy, can I-"

Luna and Emeric winced. "Keep Emeric company, alright, sweetie? Mummy had best deal with this one…"

Lorcan's face fell, but he nodded and trudged over to Emeric.

Luna entered the storeroom and returned a few moments later with a much smaller stack of wands than her son had carried before.

"Here," she said, handing him the top box. "Vine and Sea-Serpent heartstring, thirteen inches,-"

"That's not it," Rowan said earnestly.

"You would probably know better than I would," Luna admitted. She set the dozen or so boxes on the floor between the two of them, then backed away, indicating that he could have free reign.

Rowan approached slowly as his mother and Emeric watched, enthralled.

He knelt by the boxes, his hand hovering over them.

After a moment he dipped towards one, then another. Selecting a third, he removed the lid of its box, examining it closely.

"Willow and Griffin feather, Ramora bone marrow, and Unicorn tail hair, twelve inches, pliable," Luna told him, bending over it to see better. "Go ahead, give it a wave."

"This isn't it," Rowan told her. He set the box back down, stepping away. "I'm sorry, but I don't think any of these are quite right."

Luna frowned, tilting her head slightly at him. "I wonder…" she trailed off. "Emeric, do me a favor and go into Garrick's personal stores. I think I want number 9999, but get 9998 and 9910 just in case."

Emeric looked astonished. "Right away," he said, and vanished, returning with three boxes.

Rowan immediately stepped forward, arm outstretched. "That one," he gasped, around a sudden swelling in his throat. His arms and the back of his neck were tingling, and his hand shook as he reached to accept it.

There were a mere nine inches between Rowan and Emeric when the middle box surged out from between the others, landing neatly in Rowan's hand.

Luna gasped, but Rowan barely heard her. His fingers shook as he removed the lid from the box.

The wand laid on tissue paper yellow with age inside was smooth, unbelievably smooth and a deep, rich brown, very straight, with thin, intricate designs on the handle. More importantly, it was glowing. In fact, so was he. Both were emitting a soft golden light, and a soft wind lifted the wand slightly from its wrappings as Rowan reached for it.

When his skin met the wood, a low rumble of thunder echoed distantly, and Rowan exhaled, tightly gripping the carved candle.

He raised it high above his head and brought it slashing down.

Immediately, he rose into the air, drifted to within a few feet of the ceiling, his eyes closed, his expression one of utter bliss. His glow extended to the rest of the shop, and the sound of thunder rumbling increased, intertwining with even, tinkling notes, as if played on a piano.

He was brought sharply back to earth at the sound of clapping from below and in all likelihood would have broken his neck had he not already been advanced in the art of flying without a broomstick. He simply parted his legs as he fell, spreading his arms so he landed gracefully on his feet in a small circle comprised of Norah, Emeric, Luna and Lorcan.

His mother beamed at him, as did Luna and Evander.

"Cool," Lorcan acknowledged.

"Alder and entwined Thestral tail hair and Phoenix feather, eleven and three-fourths inches, only slightly yielding," Luna said reverently.

Emeric stared worshipfully at Rowan. "Nice," he managed finally, his eyes wide.

It was at that moment that the door to the shop burst open and another family moved in, identical boys around Rowan's age looking slightly bored, their mother astonished. "What on earth happened in here?" she exclaimed, looking around.

Luna turned swiftly to face them as Emeric waved his wand inconspicuously at the hole in the wall behind them. "All in a day's work," she explained lightly. She glanced toward the boys, who were clearly twins, smiled and said, "You're Dante Ansel's boys, aren't you? Caine and… Reeve?"

"_Heath_," the boy to his mother's right corrected irritably. He might have been slightly shorter than his brother, though both boys were on the tall side, with clear skin and wavy auburn hair that fell longer than Rowan's mother would ever have allowed, nearly brushing each boy's collar. They wore royal purple cloaks trimmed with gold over crisp white dress shirts, neatly ironed charcoal colored pants, and thick-soled, heavy black shoes so well shined they seemed to glow. Rowan glanced self-consciously down at his own scuffed green trainers, pressed blue jeans, and navy t-shirt. Despite his lack of knowledge about typical wizarding clothing choice, he was certain- _certain_ one didn't need to be so extravagantly dressed for a trip to the shops.

The boys' mother gripped Heath's shoulder tightly. "It's been a long day," she apologized, forcing a smile that was thin and cold and didn't nearly reach her eyes. "Luna Scammander, correct? We were introduced at the Christmas party four years ago at the Greengrass estate."

"Maureen Ansel, indeed we were," Luna replied, though the quickly disguised look on her face suggested it had not been on her list of top-ten favorite encounters. "Are the boys here for their wands?"

"Indeed," Maureen Ansel said stiffly. Rowan looked at her a little more closely and realized that she too was a bit overdressed, though not nearly as much as her sons. Long, flowing and elegant robes of muted silver and forest green trailed to the floor and pooled around her feet, and it was amazing to him that she could hold her head as high as she did what with the added weight of the intricate silver earrings dangling to her shoulders.

"We'll just finish up here and be with you in a moment," Luna said brightly.

"We're on a tight schedule," Maureen Ansel replied, her lips tightening.

Luna chose not to acknowledge this save for the fact that her won smile tightened into something of a grimace, and Rowan could have sworn he heard her mutter to Emeric, "I'll give her tight schedule…"

"Thank you very much," Norah said, hastily bending to gather her things.

"Hey," one of the boys- he'd lost track of which was which- said disinterestedly in greeting to Rowan.

Rowan tensed. These did not seem like the friendliest pair. "Er- Good morning," he replied.

"Heath Ansel," the boy said, and extended a hand to shake.

"Rowan Yewbeam," Rowan replied nervously, accepting it briefly.

"I suppose you're in our year, then," the other one- had it been Caine?- said. "Hogwarts?"

"Yes," Rowan allowed, then started as Caine offered to shake his hand as well.

He accepted it, but jerked away immediately, stung; the boy's hand was the temperature of dry ice, perhaps colder- so cold it burned his hand.

Both burst out into laughter. None of the adults had been watching, but Norah was instantly alert, responding to the hurt, angry expression on her son's face. "We'd best be going," she said, packages tucked under each arm.

_What on earth was that for?_, Rowan was tempted to shout. He'd never done anything to them. But he remembered what Professor Evander had told him about the vitality of his learning to control his emotions. Rowan was typically an even-tempered child, but he remembered from emotional outbursts in the past that his magic did indeed have a tendency to… run away with him. And he could easily hurt people, when that happened.

And he didn't want to hurt Caine and Heath Ansel, even though they had hurt him. That wasn't right.

"It was excellent meeting you," Luna said wearily, and beside her Emeric nodded, already measuring the boy nearest to him, who he realized was Caine as the boy turned to wave at him, with a hand briefly revealing the bluish packet of gel he'd used to prank Rowan.

Shuddering, Rowan turned away. There was still the promise of the pet shop to look forward to, he assured himself, sticking his hand, which was developing a fierce ache, into his pocket.

He'd almost forgotten his wand, he'd tucked it there carefully as the boys had come in, and now it seemed to be gently warming his hand. He sighed in contentment, pulling it out.

The rich brown of the wood winked at him, and he clutched it tightly, pushing the encounter with the twins to the back of his mind. The wood felt like silk in his hand, ready to be used for magic that would shock the world.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N:_

_So, this is my third consecutive Monday evening update, as promised, and I find myself with a problem! I have no idea whatsoever what anyone thinks of this story. Please Review, and tell me what you think. If you like the story, great! Tell me what you like. If you think it's a complete waste of time and never plan on reading it again, at least have the decency to let me know why so I can try to fix it! I write fanfiction to learn to be a better writer, and if I can't learn from my mistakes, then there's no point writing, is there?_

_With this in mind, I'm going to take a friend's suggestion and propose a challenge. For every fifty reviews this story recieves, I'll post a bonus chapter, the Thursday directly following. And believe me, a few chapters from now you'll really consider that a treat, as the action will begin picking up very, very soon. Just a hint. Can you earn it? Let's see!_

* * *

**Testing the Boundries**

**Chapter Three:**

Rowan disliked saying goodbye. The house in which he lived with his family was small, having only two floors, with three compact bedrooms on the uppermost. This would have been acceptable had Jack not desperately needed the smallest bedroom as an office space. Hence, four years ago, months before Nathaniel had been born, Jack had begun to reconstruct the attic for his step-son, on the basis that the baby needed to be closer to his parents than the seven year old did.

The attic was now split into two parts. If one was to ascend the narrow staircase at the end of the hallway, he would meet a blank wall, leaning towards him, with a skylight to reduce claustrophobia. Jack, being nearly six feet tall, banged his head on the ceiling from the top step nearly every time and avoided coming up to Rowan's room for that very reason. However, it was no problem for Rowan to make a sharp turn at the top of the staircase to walk along the short, narrow hallway that paralleled it. The passage opened up into a wider landing, where there were two wooden doors on the same wall, facing the mouth of the hall.

The door to the right was kept tightly closed, for behind it was the section of unfinished attic, loaded with old furniture and boxes of Christmas decorations, Rowan's baby clothes, grimy old pictures, and a large quantity of dust.

The door to the left was Rowan's bedroom. He opened the door, carefully taking it in. After all, tomorrow would be the last time he would see it for some time.

He loved his bedroom. Jack had done an excellent job with it, though he insisted his forehead would never recover from the amount of times he had banged his head on the ceiling as he came up and down the stairs to get to it.

The ceiling sloped heavily, because it was directly under the roof of the house. The walls were still rough wood, but they were far better insulated than the other side of the attic, thus leading to his room being much warmer. They and the floor had been sanded and smoothed and checked thoroughly for anything that could leave a splinter. The floor had then been polished, and was now so smooth that Rowan could slide across it in his socks with no difficulty at all. It did get a little chilly in the winter, just like the rest of the house, so Jack had placed a plush white rug in the center, though he had been careful to leave ample room to either side for sock-sliding.

Heavy, thick grey and white striped curtains hung over the windows. A brass framed bed was pushed up against one wall, and on it were white sheets and a navy paisley bed-spread. There was a dark brown wardrobe crammed under the highest part of the roof beside the doorway, facing the rest of the room. There was a writing desk, also dark brown, next to a burnished gold radiator towards the shorter side of the slant and just across the room from his bed. On the other side of the desk was an old-fashioned looking lamp, the same color as his bed frame, and next to that, at the taller part of the room, a towering bookshelf of scratchy brown wood laden with all his favorite stories. On the floor near the bookshelf was a corduroy covered navy beanbag chair.

Rowan was quite fond of his room, he reflected as he crossed it to sit on the bed, and he would be sad to leave it for months. He would miss his mother too, and Jack and Nathaniel. In fact, Nathaniel would have grown considerably by the time Rowan came back from Hogwarts. Rowan wondered if in the months in between, Nathaniel would grow so old that he would stop chasing after Rowan, calling, "Rowe, pay with me!" Sure, Rowan found that annoying at times, but he rather liked it as well.

Other than that, Rowan wasn't sure what he would miss about Baycliffe. The school he currently attended was a small public school for ages five to fourteen, and he hadn't had many friends there. Sure, he liked the other boys, and they got along well enough, but they had also kept their distance from him, thinking he was strange. His form teacher for the upcoming school year, Mr. Webster, was known as a tall, lean, no-nonsense man with an impressive moustache and a great collection of blue pinstripe suits, and while Rowan didn't outright dislike him, he wouldn't be sorry to leave him behind, either.

A strange part of his conversation with Professor Evander drifted back to him. Professor Evander had explained that he only came to visit the families of children who weren't of wizard descent- muggle borns. At this, Rowan had asked thoughtfully, "Does it make a difference, then, being from a muggle family?"

He had meant it more in regards to knowledge, but Professor Evander had misunderstood, and taken it very seriously. "Mr. Yewbeam," he'd said, "No one has any right to tease you for being muggle-born. Muggle-borns have just as much magic as wizards and witches with magical relations, and in your case, a lot more. Should anyone tease or belittle you because of your heritage, you are to come straight to me or another of your Professors. Pay special attention, and tell us specifically if you hear the terms 'mudblood' or 'wandmugger'. Those expressions are taken very seriously after the war, and any student who uses them in regards to another is on grounds for immediate exclusion."

Rowan would have liked to hear a bit more about the people they were anticipating to him, and what exactly made those words so terrible, but Jack had asked, "Did you say _war_?", and Professor Evander had expounded into a brief explanation of the Second Blood War, a battle over the rights of muggle borns against a tyrant known as Lord Voldemort. The entire thing had sounded a bit WWII-ish to Rowan, and he shuddered slightly, moving closer to his mother on the couch.

"But there's nothing to be worried about now," Professor Evander had been sure to say, peering compassionately at Rowan. "Lord Voldemort and the majority of his followers are dead, and those who weren't killed are going to rot in Azkaban, wizarding prison. As I said, pure-blooded bigotry is never tolerated, on a classroom or continental level."

Rowan had nodded seriously, and discussion had turned to slightly more cheerful descriptions of Hogwarts, the four houses, the grounds and rules and etcetera.

Looking back, however, Rowan found it all a little worrisome. Was he doomed to be an outcast, no matter where he went?

A soft purr came from beneath the covers beside him, and Rowan gave a small smile as a lump rose beneath the duvet and began to move this way and that, clearly looking for a way out. Rowan lifted the lower corner of the bed, giving light to the small, kitten, called Shadow after a day at home because of his smoky grey color and his deep attachment to Rowan, following him most everywhere he went.

"Hey, buddy," Rowan said with a soft smile as the little cat meowed at him again, positioning herself on Rowan's lap and circling a few times before settling into his jeans.

Shadow was only about the size of Rowan's hand at the moment, although the shop owner had assured him she would grow to be good sized, probably larger than the average house-cat.

"It's a-becauses he's part kneazle," he had said. "I can always a-tell m' Kneazle-Cats from m' House Cats. Just a-have a look at them paws. Nice and wide, but a-with such thinny legs. Big ears, too, she's a-got, but the real clue's in them eyes. Betcha yah've never seen a cat a-with dark brown eyes before, and the way they twinkle? At least a-half kneazle, possibly more. She's a a-special one, that's for sure."

Norah had wanted him to have an owl, so much as attempting to drag him away from the basket of cats where Rowan and Shadow had been eying each other, grey on dark brown, both wide.

"Don't you remember? Professor Evander said they were so smart," Norah had told him. "That way you can write us. Don't you want to send letters home?" she pleaded.

"I won't need one, Mum," Rowan had said with an absent glance at the row of handsome owls, where another small family was stood, examining them closely.

"But you'll be able to write us, and we can write you back, and then-,"

"Mum," Rowan had said, "I'm not going to need one."

Norah had then looked at him closely, taking in the odd glow to his silvery eyes. "What do you see?" she asked, lowering her voice.

"Not much," Rowan had said, "Indistinct shapes. But it comes with a feeling that I don't need to buy an owl. A strong feeling. In fact, it's almost important that I don't."

Softly, he had added, "I'll be able to use a school owl until I'm ready."

"Ready for what?" Norah had asked, bewildered.

If anything, Rowan had been more confused than she was. "I don't know," he'd said. "It's just a feeling."

His mother's voice, calling from downstairs tore Rowan away from his thoughts. "Rowan, love? Dinner's on the table!"

Rowan stood immediately on instinct and the kitten slipped off his lap, landing roughly on the floor, where she stared at him, highly disconcerted.

"Sorry, Shadow," Rowan whispered, bending down to pet along the tiny bumps of her spine before straightening up and calling, "Coming, Mum!"

He quickly headed down from the attic, then to the main level of the house, Shadow trailing behind him.

In the kitchen, his mum, Jack, and Nathaniel were waiting for him. Norah looked as if she'd been crying, but she greeted him brightly, saying, "Look, Rowe, all your favorite foods. We can have the same when you come back for Christmas, if you'd like."

Rowan smiled at her. "Thanks, Mum."

"And then I thought we could stop at the diner for brunch before we put you on the train tomorrow," Jack told him cheerfully.

"Out foe Beak-fast!" Nathaniel remarked from his booster seat, banging a spoon enthusiastically upon his plate until Norah took it away from him, a smile tugging at her lips.

The entire situation seemed to confuse the toddler, who kept interrupting the table conversation, mostly speculation about Hogwarts, with fragmented bursts of speech; "Rowe leaving onna t_rrrrrrr_ain? Can I come too? We saying bye-bye to Rowe t'morrow? How come?"

Rowan really appreciated it all, and he went to bed happy that night, although he couldn't help thinking it was the last night he would sleep in his bed for a long while.

Truthfully, he didn't sleep very well either. He woke frequently in the night, tossing and turning, and glancing frequently at the electric clock by his bed.

Bizarre dreams speckled what sleep he did get, fuzzy and unclear.

In one, he was riding a train like the underground his parents had often taken him on to visit his grandparents across the county, but the track continuously changed, first going through darkness in an underground tunnel, as always, but then surfacing through a long string of ocean, passing through a beautiful expanse of sky before plummeting through flame to get back underground again. Rowan, locked in sleep, had been overwhelmed with the feeling that there was something missing from the express's strange journey until it suddenly derailed, careering off into space. The train became a shuttle, and Rowan was an astronaut, peering through a tiny window into the balls of flame, chunks of ice and small planets hurtling past him. He woke uncertainly and was certain he could still see stars and tiny planets moving swiftly across his closed eyelids until he drifted back into sleep.

This time, he found himself locked in a cavernous, bare and fiercely spinning grey room. There was a door all the way across, the length of several fields, and the figure of a girl stood in the doorframe, her back to him, her dark hair being whipped all around her face. "Wait!" Rowan called at her, his voice desperate, fear clawing at his chest. "Don't jump!" but she did, and he screamed as she disappeared into the wildly rotating world outside, masses of dark hair streaming behind her. Rowan chased after her, but he was slammed to the ground as the world around him gave a fierce jolt and he instead rolled backwards, landing in a corridor paved with smooth cobblestone, Professor Evander, looking strangely distorted, was standing above him, also facing away. Filled with terror but lying helpless on his back, Rowan scrabbled away like a crab, and as he did so, a deep sound like a gong rang through the corridor. Professor Evander turned towards him, and his face was warped with a furious hate only seen in nightmares. But his voice came out sounding as kind and gentle and pleasant as it had when he'd come to talk to the family, as he said, "But I did it all for you. And for me. For people like us."

What? What's he talking about? Rowan wondered even as he let out a scream of terror, scrambling to his feet and tearing away down a seemingly endless corridor, running so fast and so blindly that his surroundings disappeared into a blur of panic. Suddenly the ground beneath him disappeared, and Rowan was falling.

He woke with a start, his face pressed into his pillow, his heart racing. He was tightly cocooned in his sheets, utterly drenched in sweat. He stayed prone for a minute, face buried in his pillow until his panicked breathing slowed and his head cleared. He sat up in bed to find Shadow sitting on the small table beside his bed, looking concerned- if it was at all possible for a kitten. As she leapt nimbly the short distance to his lap, Rowan caught sight of the clock, which her tiny form had been blocking. Five thirty in the morning.

He sat back, intending to go back to sleep, but his muscles wouldn't relax, and there was a faint tingling at the back of his mind. Something was wrong.

You've had a nightmare, Rowan told himself firmly. Go back to sleep, else you'll be utterly knackered for the trip to Hogwarts…

There was a loud thud from the floor below, followed by a choked shriek to shatter the eerie silence in the house.

Rowan leapt from his bed and rocketed to the landing as if shot from a bullet, Shadow still clutched to his chest and his sheet dragging behind him. Such was his adrenaline pumping that he didn't even notice the railing on the hall until he'd vaulted over it and landed safely some four meters below on one of the bottom steps, feather-lightly and completely unharmed. He jumped the remaining steps and raced to Nathaniel's room, where he somehow knew the trouble was, only inches behind Norah and Jack.

The three year old lay on the floor, still asleep, just as sweat-drenched and shaky as Rowan had been moments before. He'd clearly fallen out of bed, as his menagerie of stuffed animals lay in a tangle of sheets and blankets around him. He'd also taken his bedside table lamp with him, the porcelain base and light bulb in shards around him.

Stepping quickly but carefully in bare feet, Norah crossed the room to reach him, scooping him into her arms and perching the both of them on the bed. "He's burning up," she whispered across the room.

Jack and Rowan hurriedly approached the bed, both disregarding the sharp pieces. The clear glass and moonlit porcelain crunched under Jack's hard-soled brown slippers, but seemed to melt like rubber beneath Rowan's feet as he ran to Nathaniel.

His curly brown hair was plastered to his pale face, his eyes closed and hollow. "Could one of you get the thermometer?" Norah asked, then glancing down, "-Rowan, your feet-,"

Rowan ignored her last comment, instead choosing to place a hand to Nathaniel's forehead, then cheek. "Not quite forty," he told his mother. "In degrees Celsius, I mean. About 103.5 degrees Fahrenheit."

Jack's brow creased. "Should we take him to the hospital?" he asked, not bothering to second-guess Rowan. He'd learned his step-son was more accurate than any thermometer.

"Let's call my mother first," Norah whispered back, cradling Nathaniel. Rowan's grandmother, Myrlie, was a retired pediatric nurse, and frequently the first stop for the family's medical conditions.

"Wait, Mum, you'll hurt yourself," Rowan told her, quickly dropping to his knees and gathering up the shards of lamp in his bare hands, feeling his parents' eyes on him as they molded themselves back into the shattered lamp stand. "You'll probably need a new light bulb," he told her as he set it back on the table, "I don't think the filament reset quite right."

"I don't suppose you can teach me that trick," Jack whispered to him as they hurried out of the room.

Rowan smiled slightly. "I don't think so, no. I don't think even I could have done it, on a normal night. Nathaniel's alright, by the way. His fever will drop by mid-morning, but spike again in the afternoon. Just keep pushing fluids."

Jack smiled. "You are feeling… magical tonight." His face fell, then. "This might mean I won't be able to come with to take you to the train station today, Rowe. I'm sorry, buddy."

"That's perfectly alright," Rowan replied, though he admittedly did feel upset by it.

At that moment, Norah came into the hall from her bedroom, the phone cradled against her shoulder, Nathaniel in her arms. "You know, now you mention it…" she said to Rowan's Granny, shifting Rowan in her arms so she could feel under his neck, "Glands are swollen. And a light rash on his neck…"

She listened a moment, furrowing her brow at Jack before saying. "Oh my… I guess that does make sense. Scarlet Fever," she directed in Jack's direction.

Jack grimaced.

"Antibiotics…" Norah was saying. "Uh huh. We'll do that. Thank you so much, Mum. Yes, I'll call you again in the morning. Yes, Rowan certainly seems fine… he heard Nathaniel before we did, I think. Yes, today's the day he leaves…. I'll definitely check for a rash before I send him anywhere… I'm sure they have an infirmary at his new school. Alright. Alright, love you too, Mum. Thank you so much, and sorry to wake you… Oh, I'm sure. Alright, bye."

She disconnected, glancing up at Rowan and his step-father. "Hugs from Granny," she told Rowan with a slight smile, "And she definitely thinks Scarlet fever. She says if we take him to the clinic in the morning, they'll give him antibiotics and fever medications."

"Rowan reckons the fever'll have dropped by midmorning, but spike again in the afternoon," Jack said, glancing at him.

"That sounds about right," Norah said, smiling at him also. "But Rowan… we won't all be able to bring you to the platform."

At the suddenly stricken look on her face, Rowan smiled patiently. "I know, Mum, it'll be alright."

"You can take him," Jack offered. "I'll stay with Nathaniel."

"That'll work best, won't it?" Norah said softly. "You aren't feeling sick, are you, Rowan? It's highly contagious."

Rowan gave her his most convincing smile. "I'm fine, Mum. You worry too much."

"Well, then," Jack said, concealing a tired yawn, "You two have a busy day ahead of you, so you should get some sleep. If I'm going to be home all day, I'll stay with Nate."

"Don't be silly, Jack," Norah scolded. "I'll take him back to bed and stay with him. After all, you'll have him most of the morning and afternoon. All I have to do is drive Rowan down to the station; I don't need any sleep."

"I think you'll find-," Jack began.

"Actually," Rowan interrupted. "You're both being ridiculous. I should sit up with him, seeing as I'm not going to be able to take responsibility for him until Christmas and I can sleep on the train."

Both adults gaped at him. "That's sweet, Rowe," Norah said finally. She was misty-eyed again.

"Jesus, I'm going to miss you," Jack said with an odd half-smile, leaning over to hug Rowan.

Without further discussion, Jack lifted Nathaniel's limp, sweat-sticky body from Norah and carried him into his room, waving a hand at Rowan to stifle his protests. Norah led Rowan back to the bottom of his staircase, hugging him and advising him to get some rest.

"You're going to need it," she told him with a faint, tired smile.

Rowan was fairly certain she was absolutely right. After all, it wasn't everyday one's life changed completely, though for better or for worse even he couldn't predict.


	4. Chapter 4

**Testing the Boundaries**

**Chapter Four:**

The next morning dawned cool and clear, with oppressive grey clouds darkening the horizon and threatening rain. Rowan rolled out of bed for the second time that day, far more gracefully than the first time, blinking sleep from his eyes. For a moment he couldn't remember what he was meant to be excited about today, for he knew that there was something, but then both the knowledge and a burst of exhilaration bowled into him like a comet at full speed, and he sprang towards the door and down the stairs, heart thumping in excitement. On the landing, he examined his suitcase, which he had carried down the night before, and resisted the urge to open it to check to make sure everything was securely inside, knowing that it had been fully packed and ready for a week. He skipped down the remaining hall and flight of stairs to the ground floor, then into the sitting room where he found Jack asleep on the couch against one wall and snoring softly. On the love-seat on the other wall sprawled Nathaniel, his head on the pillow from his room, tucked loosely under his patched red and blue comforter, a plastic cartoon character Sippy-Cup filled with red juice on the wooden end table beside him.

Rowan smiled, approaching him and setting a hand to his flushed cheek. His temperature was lower now, which was good.

"Is that you, Rowan?" Norah called softly from the kitchen, appearing a moment later at the doorway in her dressing gown and salmon striped pajama pants, a spatula in hand. "Chocolate chips or blueberries in your pancakes, love? Oh, and wake Jack as well- actually, on second thoughts, let him sleep. I'll just make some of both. Would you run down to the cellar and check if there's any more maple syrup down there?"

Rowan started to move towards the cellar door, then changed his mind. If he was really going to a school for magic, he might as well get used to using some of his powers.

Self-consciously checking to make sure his mum wasn't watching- although there was really no reason why she shouldn't be- he extended his right hand rigidly towards the cellar door.

He'd never tried using his powers like this before. Sure, things happened for him, sometimes came to him, but he'd never thought to ask for them before.

Strangely enough, he knew exactly what to do. It wasn't like he had to call his magic, more like he had to reach for it, deep inside him, and channel it outwards. He was using his hand now, because it seemed easiest, but it occurred to him as he effortlessly swung the cellar door open that he didn't need to use anything. He dropped his arm to his side and channeled it through his eyes instead, thinking very, very hard about the syrup- it was on the top shelf of the pantry, beside the flour- and carefully bringing it towards him, clenching his fists as he willed it across the drafty cellar, up the rickety wooden stairs, and- yes!- there it was, hovering in the doorway and lurching towards him in an odd, halted fashion, coming to drop at his feet with a thud.

"Huh," Rowan said to himself, strangely exhilarated. It was far easier the second time he tried, he simply scooped it off the ground with his mind and sent it floating smoothly towards the counter behind the stove where his mother stood with her back to him. He even managed to land it more easily, settling it down slowly on the smooth stone surface.

"Thank you, Row-," his mother began, but stopping, mystified to find the jug of syrup on the counter with her son still in the doorway.

Rowan smiled sheepishly, focusing again on the jug and lifting it smoothly in the air and hovering it towards her. It grew easier every time he tried, he thought, and after his mother had shot him a borderline astonished look and grabbed the syrup out of the air, he focused instead on the box of pancake mix, bringing it off the counter, then closer to him, then further away, then spiraling higher into the air. It was a little difficult to hold it for long periods of time, he discovered, but the weight of the object didn't seem to matter.

Jack was soon stood behind him in the doorway as he carefully maneuvered one of the family's kitchen chairs in arcs and circles and loops around the room. Rowan tilted his head, squinting at the chair to try to make it spin in circles, but lost control of it briefly as it dropped towards the ground. He caught it moments before it hit, lowering it the remaining centimeters with abashed caution.

It was irritating, he decided. He could feel that he had the power to do it, tingling in the very core of his body, pulsing through him like the very blood that kept him alive, but he wasn't quite sure how to make it do exactly what he wanted. He was unsure of how to control it.

"That was something else," Jack told him with a smile. "You constantly amaze me, Rowan."

Norah laughed. "I'm not quite sure what to say," she told him, "Except that breakfast is ready, if anyone wants to eat."

Rowan frowned, staring down at his hands. He should be able to do this. He had never really _not _been able to do something before.

* * *

Rose Weasley's thin legs twitched with anticipation under the table, her eyes glued to the clock above her father's flaming orange head as its hands ticked away the seconds, and the minutes, to the moment it seemed she'd spent her life waiting for. Ron's knee jack-hammered against his palm as he ate, and he occasionally sent a difficult-to-read smile across the table towards her. Beside her, her brother Hugo was slumped in his chair, stirring moodily at his bowl of hot cereal and not saying a word. Not that he had much of a chance to; Rose's mother, Hermione, had been growing increasingly anxious as the time to send her eldest child off to school approached, and when her mother was anxious, she tended to talk louder, and harder, and _faster_. Now that the big day was finally here, she hadn't stopped talking all morning, and there was hardly a moment for Rose to get a word in edgewise. Earlier, in Rose's bedroom, it had been all about her supplies; was her trunk all packed, had she remembered her new dressing gown, did her new snowy white owl, Nikka, have enough food for the journey? Then, Rose had been able to tune her out, and the only participation needed was an eager, _Yes, Mum_, whenever Hermione paused for a breath. Now, however, the discussion seemed to demand more attention and… _Oops_… She had no idea what her mum was on about.

"…naturally among the most difficult, although I've heard from your cousins that while the professor is relatively new and a bit reserved, everyone simply adores him. Now, we'll have to see whether you sway towards practical magic or theory, but it's crucial that you remember each one is terribly important to your magical education. Of course, you could easily excel at both, and it could vary between classes. I'm inclined to suspect you may have a difficult time keeping up with the theory, what with your tendency to daydream, although your father and I expect you to _pay better attention to your teachers than you do your mother!_"

Rose jumped rather guiltily as her mother glared at her, and Hugo's eyes flickered up towards her for the first time that morning.

She and Hugo looked remarkably similar, each perfect balances of their mother and father. Though Rose was a little tall for her age and Hugo rather short, they both had wavy auburn hair and freckles. Rose's eyes were clear blue like Ron's, and Hugo had hazel, like Hermione. Both were stick thin and a little lanky, which did not necessarily endear Rose to her appearance. Typical Weasley, through and through, she thought.

Then she realized she had completely lost track of what her mother was saying again.

She zoned in in time to hear that her mother had changed tracks completely and was now going over their plans for the morning, which involved the reasonably short (with magic, naturally) trip to King's Cross Station, in the family car to avoid the hassle and crowds at the floo network in the station.

"We'll meet the Potters there, I know Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny are planning to arrive with half an hour to spare, but knowing their family, they're guaranteed to be fifteen minutes late, so it's bound to be a rush when it comes to actually getting on the train. Ron, we're- Ron? Ron!"

"Mmph?" her father said, lurching slightly into focus as he turned to his wife.

"If she's got my brains, Ronald, she has your attention span," Hermione snapped. "_As I was_ _saying_, we're meeting Fleur, George, and Angelina for lunch at the Leaky Cauldron; Hannah's saving us seats. Bill's away on business and Percy and Audrey had to rush back to work, but they asked if we'd stop and bring Lucy with us, as she so wanted to come along. Obviously Hugo and Lily are coming as well, and I imagine George and Angelina are bringing Roxanne."

"Right," Ron said. "Blimey, that list gets shorter every year. It used to be so we had to book out the whole restaurant, but now it's going to be two tables at the most… the kids just keep getting older, don't they?"

"And then there's no one around to play with," Hugo murmured a little sadly into his bowl. After a moment, he grumbled, "I don't even _like_ porridge…"

"Hey, Buck up, little man," Ron told him, causing Hugo's scowl to deepen at his least favorite of his father's nicknames. "Few more years and you'll be joining the crew at Hogwarts."

"Alright, ten minutes and we should be on the road," Hermione said brusquely. "Hugo, your trainers are in the laundry room, Rose, go make sure you've got everything packed so poor Benji doesn't have to drag a cauldron all the way to Hogwarts."

The elderly family owl, light brown and ruffled, looked woefully at her from the window, where his cage was hung.

"Alright, Mum," they replied in unison.

The time to leave for Hogwarts was drawing nearer.

* * *

A warning whistle blasted loudly in his ear as Rowan dragged his cumbersome trunk and cat carrier behind him as he stumbled anxiously towards the compartments of the scarlet steam engine, its shining barrel like a beacon in the haze created by its own muggy exhaust. Rowan wasn't crying, but he was close. And he wasn't all that afraid to admit it, either, though he was glad there was no one near enough to see that his eyes were watering. Jack's eyes had had tears in them too, when he'd hugged him goodbye from the front step of their house. His mother had cried when she'd kissed the top of his head before shoeing him off towards the train, and was probably still doing so, watching him from the throng of parents at the other side of the platform. Her tearstained face swam before his eyes, blinding him for a moment.

Blinking the image aside, he swung his trunk up onto the platform on the train. It was less than a foot off the ground, but the effort required was still immense, and it winded him for a moment. He leaned against the side of the train, panting, as he considered the thought that the chest probably weighed more than he did, what with the bulk of the heavy pewter cauldron, nearly a dozen dense textbooks and clothes and other supplies to last him until Christmas away from home.

He was seized abruptly from his thoughts by a muffled yell, breaking through the babble of the crowd beyond him. He jerked away from the train, looking sharply around him.

He didn't have to look far. Only meters away by the door to the next carriage, a boy his age was crumpled on the dirty grey pavement, barely managing to keep himself from being crushed flat by the weight of his own trunk, which had caved on top of him.

Rowan darted over to him, thinking at the last moment to use his magic to help him as he shoved the suddenly feather-light trunk off of the other boy.

As the case fell away, landing with a sharp crack on the pavement, Rowan registered a few things in very quick succession. One was that the boy was almost as small as he was, and had the biggest, shiniest brown eyes he had ever seen under a tousled crop of very light, sandy brown hair. Second, the boy's left arm was loosely clutching a heavy wooden crutch, still half-tucked under his armpit, with its pair discarded half a meter away. Third was that beneath a patched black Hogwarts cloak, his blue-jean clad legs were shriveled and twisted beneath him, clearly able to bear little if not any of his weight.

"Are you alright?" Rowan asked, as he retrieved the wooden crutch and handed it to the other boy, unsure of whether to help him as he propped it upright and struggled to heave himself into a standing position. In the end, he settled on steadying it for him as he repositioned the other under his arm, and only when the boy had a firm grip on both crutches, one leg trembling under its meager portion of his bodyweight on the ground, the other hanging loosely at an awkward angle did he look up at Rowan, offer him a thin smile, and say, "I'm fine. Thank you."

"It was no trouble," Rowan replied truthfully. Indeed, it seemed to have been far more troublesome for the boy, whose evidently stronger leg was torqueing beneath him, sweat breaking out on his brow. "Here, I've got this." He managed to heave the boy's trunk- no lighter than his own- onto the train. "I'm Rowan, by the way. Rowan Yewbeam. Do you need any more help?"

"I'm Etan Brenton, and I don't need any more help, but I'd appreciate the company if you wanted to find a compartment together." He replied, swinging himself carefully up onto the train platform then clinging to a handle on the side of the doorway as he repositioned one crutch, then the other.

"That would be great," Rowan said, pleasantly surprised. He'd been worried about making friends- or, rather, _not_ making friends- and was delighted to have found a pleasant person so soon. "Just let me run and get my cat, I left her carrier over by the other compartment. Oh- and sorry, but did you say your name was Ethan?"

"_Etan_," he corrected, then grinned and spelled it for him. "It means steady and strong in Hebrew, what a joke, huh?" He had an infectious smile, and Rowan found himself grinning as well as he jogged over to the compartment where he'd left his trunk. A sign posted on the wall of the compartment said luggage could be handled separately, but he felt better having his pet with him.

The train whistle blasted again, louder than the first time, and Rowan sprinted back to the door where Etan was waiting, leaned against the wall, looking utterly exhausted. Rowan was beginning to suspect he was the sort of person who was always "fine", as he insisted when Rowan asked if he was alright.

"I'm just sort of out of it, today," he explained when Rowan didn't look convinced. "I didn't get a lot of sleep last night, I was nervous for some reason."

At that, Rowan laughed. "Can't imagine why," he said.

The last stragglers from the platform climbed in around them, mostly older students though a few might have been their age. A group of students who must have at least been sixth years shoved their way past, a few of the boys were whooping and hollering, and they barely seemed to notice them. Another boy glanced their way, took a step towards them and said, "Get a move on, you two, or you're never going to find a compartment."

Rowan noticed a scarlet and gold badge with a capital P on it pinned to his chest.

The boy, evidently some sort of captain or counselor- a prefect?- glanced at Etan, or more specifically, Etan's crutches. "Do you two need help?"

"We're fine," Rowan said, Etan nodding appreciatively. "Let's go," he said to Etan, and together they moved into the main section of the train; a long corridor surrounded by frosted glass doors concealing compartments, just wide enough for Etan to maneuver his crutches.

Rowan opened a few doors, only to find them simply jam-packed with older students, a group of whom laughed and jeered upon seeing the first years.

"Maybe we should try a little further down," he suggested weakly, slamming the door to the compartment a little roughly.

Etan nodded sheepishly.

"How-er- can you go far, on those things?" Rowan asked, gesturing uncomfortably at the crutches.

Etan raised an eyebrow at him. "The thirty meter sprint didn't go too well, but I'll be able to make it the length of the train."

"Cool," Rowan chuckled. "Sorry- I probably should have asked differently, but I wasn't sure…"

"That's fine," Etan assured him. "No one ever knows how to react to, you know, this. You're already doing better than my mum- she'd have parceled me in bubble-wrap and carried me to Hogwarts if I'd let her."

"What about your father?"

"Not in the picture." He considered a moment, then decided, "I like you. You're treating me like a person, not some sort of an invalid. That and you aren't afraid to laugh _with_ me."

"Well," Rowan said. "I like you too. We could be friends."

Etan nodded. "I'd like that."

There walking _was _slow-going, but it was faster than Rowan would have expected, and Etan was remarkably quick on his crutches, swinging along in a steady rhythm. By that time, they were almost three quarters of the way down the train, and Rowan stopped to pull open another frosted glass compartment door.

A torrent of loud, angry voices hit him suddenly, and he immediately wished he hadn't. He made to shove it quickly closed again, but caught a glimpse of the activity inside and hesitated, listening in.

At the back of the compartment, a boy with short, messy black hair and a million freckles was standing, leaning into the face of a marginally taller boy with very tan skin and curly black hair, who was shouting back almost as loudly.

"Just because you're older doesn't mean you rule the whole friggin' world, Fred-,"

"Damn it, James, shut up!"

Another boy was trying very hard to pull them away from each other, his white-blonde falling into his eyes from the exertion. "Why can't we all just get along?" he pleaded.

Both dark haired boys rounded on him simultaneously. "Shut _up_, Louis!" they yelled.

A red haired girl, one of the older students who had until then kept quiet stood as well, shoving the blonde boy- Louis- into his seat as she snapped at the boys, "Don't pick on him, he's had absolutely nothing to with whatever you guys are fighting about now. Don't make me go and drag Victiore out of the prefect's carriage, she'd set you all straight-."

"Your sister's probably too busy writing love letters to her _boyfriend_," James sneered. "_Oh, Teddy, I love you so much, I can't even bear to be away from you for another minute, but I have to uphold my noble duty as head girl, and_-"

"Stuff a kneazle in it, James! Victiore hasn't done anything to you." The red-ponytailed girl shrieked.

"She's such a suck-up!"

"_I _think you're all being perfectly ridiculous," another dark haired boy, closer to the door, with a few freckles and black hair that he had to keep brushing away from his eyes. "Do you even know what you're arguing about anymore?"

"Merlin's balls, Albus, shut up! Who the heck asked you?" James shouted.

"Who died and made you Minister?" Albus screamed, standing. He was scrawny, and just a little shorter than average. His hazel-flecked emerald eyes flashed furiously. "Merlin, James, why do you always have to be such a bully? Why is it all always about you?"

"Get out!" James demanded, standing and crossing over to Albus. "We never wanted a baby in here anyway, get up and get out!"

"Fine," another red haired girl, this one with a bushy red braid and a face scattered with freckles. "Fine." She slammed her book shut, grabbed hold of Albus by the collar, and spun him towards the door. "Come on, Albus, let's-," she stopped, and the entire compartment noticed Etan and Rowan for the first time.

There was a collective grimace.

"We're pretty much full," the first red-haired girl said apologetically.

"That's fine," Rowan said quickly. "We were just leaving."

"Take this junk with you, would you?" James asked, shoving Albus closer to the door.

"Prat," Albus muttered. He and Rose stormed from the compartment, slammed the door behind them, then looked up at Rowan and Etan.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Albus Potter," Albus said finally, "And my cousin, Rose… That was our family… unfortunately."

"Etan Brenton," Etan acknowledged.

"Rowan Yewbeam."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Rose said.

"We could find a compartment together," Albus suggested a little weakly.

"Yes, let's," Etan agreed.

The next few compartments were full as well, but nearing the end of the train, they came across one empty save for a boy curled up on the seat by the window, watching the world blur by outside. A large tabby cat was curled up on the bench beside him, evidently asleep. The boy, like Etan, was wearing his black Hogwarts cloak over jeans and a t-shirt. Also like Etan, this boy had big brown eyes, though Etan's were darker. The new boy's looked like chocolate, big and dark and twinkling. His dark blonde hair was short and neat and appeared to have been cut recently.

He looked up the moment Rose cleared her throat, and smiled invitingly at them. "Hi, come on in," he said. "I'm Sam Evander. I was starting to wonder if I'd have to spend the whole journey alone."

"Sam Evander?" Albus asked, and Rowan too recognized the last name. "Aren't you Professor Evander's son?"

"Grandson," Sam corrected. "And yeah."

"I'm Albus Potter-,"

"_Harry Potter's_ son?" Sam asked.

"Yes," Rose replied, rolling her eyes. "And I'm his cousin, Rose Weasley, and this Rowan Yewbeam and Etan… Sorry… Bennet?"

"Brenton," Etan corrected.

"Ethan?" Sam asked as they moved in to sit down.

"Etan," Etan said clearly, rolling his eyes. "E-T-A-N."

"Oh- What happened to your legs?"

Etan's face darkened slightly. "I prefer not to talk about it, and it was a long time ago," he replied, clearly a well-rehearsed answer.

"…Oh," Sam said. "But couldn't magic fix it?"

"Magic can't fix everything," Etan replied a little irritably.

"I know _that_," Sam replied, sounding slightly injured.

"What sort of things _can _magic fix?" Rowan asked curiously, keen to divert the conversation from Etan, who was looking distinctly stormy.

"Are you muggle-born?" Rose asked him curiously.

"…Yes," Rowan replied. He could say that, couldn't he? As long as nothing he said or did let slip that he was a sorcerer. The students weren't supposed to know, Professor Evander had said. They would be afraid. Professor Evander had said this darkly, and without elaboration, leaving Rowan's mind open to all sorts of horrible visions. Would he be asked to leave Hogwarts? He tensed suddenly. Did Sam know? Surely not. "What about you? Is… is anyone else muggle-born?"

"In legal terms, I'm a half-blood, as my mother was muggle-born," Rose informed him. "That seems utterly ridiculous to me, as she _is_ a witch, but whatever."

"I'm three-quarters," Albus told them, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "Pureblood mother, half-blood father, which I agree with Rose, doesn't make sense. It's my great grandparents that were muggles!"

"My heritage is complicated," Sam told them, looking a little irritated at this. "If you ask my older brother, he'll tell you we're pureblood, but we're not technically. My great-grandparents on my dad's side were both squibs from supposedly pure-blood families."

"What's a squib?" Rowan asked.

"The opposite of a muggle-born," Etan informed him. "A person with no magic born into a magical family. It's supposed to be incredibly rare, but I've read that approximately one in fifty children born to pureblood families are squibs, there's just a lot of cover-up. And I'm probably about a quarter-blood, by the way. My parents each had one magical parent."

Rowan wondered how Etan knew so much about his father if he _wasn't in the picture_, as Etan had put it earlier. Rowan knew next to nothing about his father, aside from his last name, Rhiodonan. His mother had always refused point-blankly to say anything about him, and the only time Rowan had ever pressed her, when he was about nine years old, she'd told him that they'd thought they had loved each other, but it turned out they were wrong and that their being together was a mistake, and he had left less than a year after Rowan had been born. Rowan had learned inadvertently from Jack that his parents had never been married, just engaged, which he supposed made him some sort of illegitimate child, at least until Jack had officially adopted him shortly after marrying Norah.

He'd never really been all that interested in his father. Jack had more than lived up to the father position and was Rowan's dad in every respect but biologically. Yet Rowan was suddenly realizing that for all he knew, his father_ had_ been a wizard.

He wondered if that changed his blood status. Probably, as the fact that Jack was the one who had taken him to football games, built him an amazing bedroom, taught him to tie his shoelaces and make pancakes didn't change the fact that it was the unknown Rhiodonan- father's- blood running through his veins, magical or not. He'd never really thought about it before.

"_ROWAN!_"

He jumped, almost surprised to find himself in a train carriage full of other children. "Sorry?"

"I think you fell asleep with your eyes open," Etan told him, that infectious grin back on his face. "Sam asked about your cat."

"Oh!" Rowan retrieved the cat carrier from where he'd stowed it under the seat, gently removing his cat for general inspection. She curled up on his lap, purring gently. "Her name's Shadow, because she follows me around every chance she gets. She's part kneazle."

"Oh," Sam said enviously. "I wish Dublin was part kneazle. He's a bit boring, actually, he just spends most of his time asleep."

"How about you?" Sam asked Albus, Rose, and Etan. "Do any of you have pets?"

"Albus and I have owls," Rose said. "Mine's a snowy-white called Nikka, and Albus's is a light brown called… what was it…"

"Caerwyn," Albus supplied. "It's from our History of Magic textbook."

At that moment, the door to the carriage slid open with a bang. Albus flinched, half-expecting to see James standing there.

Sam paled. It wasn't Albus's older brother, it was his.

"Asher," he said reluctantly.

Albus double-took. When his brother had mentioned the bullying jerk Asher Evander, he'd imagined a hulk of a boy, probably stupid and looking something like the thugs their father had told them about from his school days. However, he probably should have worked out from having James for a brother that bullies came in all shapes and sizes.

Asher actually looked a good deal like Sam, small and a bit gangly, with the same chocolate brown eyes. Asher's had a nasty gleam in them that Sam's certainly didn't possess, and his mousy brown hair fell in clumps across his eyes.

He jerked his head at Sam. "C'mere," he said, grinning. "I wanna talk to you."

Sam stood nervously, filing out of the compartment without much protest.

He was only gone a few minutes, but he barely said a word the rest of the ride to Hogwarts.

The five were engaged in a complicated Wizarding Chess tournament, which Rowan was enjoying immensely despite having lost the first round. As he had never played normal chess before, never mind Wizarding Chess, and found it nearly impossible to remember how each piece moved and what he was meant to be doing with his pieces (the set had been borrowed from Rose) shouting conflicting information at him, while Etan's black pieces cursed him out furiously whenever he managed to do something right. Etan blushed whenever this happened, and Rose sunk a little lower in her seat, insisting that they were her father's pieces. Feeling a little embarrassed at the long line of his pieces sitting along Etan's side of the board, Rowan declined his polite offer of a rematch and instead scooted over so another person could play.

Albus had informed them all quite proudly at the suggestion of the tournament that Rose was the best chess-player in all of Britain, a claim she proved easily when she beat her cousin in seven moves, her pawns dancing victoriously up and down the checkered board. Albus, looking distinctly annoyed, had joined Rowan watching off to the side, sulking as Sam and Rose began to play. Sam was certainly giving Rose more of a run for her money than Albus had, but it was Rose who won in the end, and Sam turned to look out the window as Etan and Rose engaged in a furious battle, ending in a draw half an hour later when Albus knocked the board over in his excitement as he gestured out the window; "Look! It's the castle!"

Jittery with excitement, they changed one at a time into their robes, then waited anxiously, gaping in awe at the castle as it grew closer on the darkening horizon. Albus in particular seemed nervous, though Rowan wasn't sure why. He bounced in his seat, his cousin occasionally kicking him to get him to settle down until he rose, pacing back and forth by the door instead. Etan sat erect on his seat, fidgeting with his crutches and staring fixatedly at the castle out the window. Without Albus to aim kicks at, Rose had reduced to biting her nails, and she'd pulled a large book, Hogwarts, a History, out of the bookbag by her feet and kept her eyes glued to the same page for the remainder of the journey. Sam stroked Dublin, his cat, as he stared fixatedly out the window, a look of sheer terror on his face.

When the train finally groaned to a stop, Rowan was confused; the castle was still quite a ways away. However, lurching to his feet, he saw why; the train appeared to have come to the edge of a dark, glassy lake, so large he couldn't see to the opposite bank. It curled around the castle, on an enormous inlet in the middle, and a wide dirt road curved along it. On the shore of the lake floated a small fleet of little wooden boats, and a little ways up the road an army of horse-less carriages waited.

"First years go up to the castle by boat," Rose explained to him, tucking her book under her arm. "It's tradition."

The same dark-haired, lanky prefect Rowan and Etan had seen when they were getting on the train appeared at the door, forcing a warped smile that looked more like a leer out around gritted teeth. "Let's go, you lot. Leave any luggage you've still got with you by the doors. First years should meet Professor Rubeus Hagrid down by the boats, alright? He's hard to miss."

Hard pounding an excited tattoo against his ribcage, legs shaking, Rowan went with the others out of the compartment.

As cliché as it sounded to him, he couldn't help but think that as the train door slammed behind him and a draught of cool air floated across his face, fate really was slamming the door to the limitations of the past. From here, anything could happen. He could _make_ anything happen.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed that! Please remember to leave a review.


	5. Chapter 5

**Testing the Boundaries**

**Chapter Five:**

The sky outside the train was the deep blue of a new bruise. Bodies of older students crushed in all around the group, and Albus and Rose were torn away from them first as they struggled against the tide in the general direction of the boats, then Sam. Etan was struggling, despite how hard he tried not to show it, and Rowan did his best to help him as voices assaulted their ears and people pushed in around them.

"What did the prefect mean; _Professor Hagrid is hard to miss_?" Etan howled in Rowan's ear as he was nearly sent flying by a pack of older boys bent on running to a group of older girls a little ways away.

"As a guess?" Rowan shouted back as a voice like a foghorn bellowed; 'FIRS' YEARS TO ME! ALL FIRS' YEARS THIS WAY!', "_That!_"

The man pushing his way towards them, parting the sea of students and still thundering, pretty much defined hard to miss. For one thing, he was colossal in size. His head and barrel chest were at least twice as wide as Rowan's body was tall, and rose above the heads of the other students. He had a great frizzy, gnarly beard, dark brown streaked with grey and crinkly beetle eyes quite possibly the size of Rowan's entire face. For another, he had a massive lantern hoisted high above his head, where it shone like a new sun, giving the darkening area an ethereal glow. For a third, as he moved even nearer to them, they saw he had a dog, a bull-mastiff that easily would have come up to Rowan's shoulder had he been standing next to it, dun and black in color and slobbering all over.

Professor Hagrid's voice dropped a little as he set eyes on them. "Yeh alrigh'?" He asked.

"Fine!" Etan tried to call back, but his voice was swallowed by the crowd.

Professor Hagrid closed the distance between them in three steps, set his lantern down on the ground, and picked Rowan up in one hand by the scruff of his collar, Etan in the other, barely hanging on to his crutches. He set them down quite gently on a narrow dock along which the boats were lined, bobbing a little bit in the water.

"Thank you, Professor Hagrid," Rowan gasped politely, rubbing his throat as they straightened up, Etan repositioning his crutches beneath him.

Professor Hagrid chuckled. "Tommy Carmichael tell yeh t' call me that? He's been doin' that fer years, now… It's Hagrid, jus' Hagrid. M' the keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. What're yer names?"

They told him, shouting to make themselves heard over the only slightly muffled roar of the students.

"Eh? Evan?" Hagrid repeated, cupping a hand to his ear.

"ETAN!" Etan bellowed. "E-T-A-N."

"Ah," Hagrid replied sagely. "Sorry, but yeh don't get too many Etan's. Ethans an' Evans an' a decent kid called Eftan once, but never an Etan if memory serves. An' I've been workin' at this school for near-on seventy-five years, now."

_How old are you?_ Rowan couldn't help but wonder. He was an excellent guesser, the whole Sorcerer thing seemed to help with that, but he was judging this man at around eighty-five (which he'd learned on the train was only a little over middle-aged for a wizard or witch), and for that to be, he'd have had to have started working at Hogwarts when he was about ten. Surely Hogwarts didn't support child labor?

"What's your dog called?" a timid voice queried from behind them, and Rowan and Etan turned to smile at a round-face girl, evidently a first year, standing with another small clump of first years just behind them. Her dark-blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail at the back of her head, and very near to her stood a boy with glasses and the same round face and blonde hair cut in a shaggy line across his brow.

"Eh? I've called 'im Dodger," Hagrid explained, fondly ruffling the dog's head. "He's big'n all, but he don't bite, if you'd like to pet 'im."

"I'm Sebastian Greengrass," the bespectacled boy stood beside her said, looking a bit embarrassed as the girl crouched by the dog, massaging its neck and sides with her fingers. "This is my sister, Evelyn. She's crazy about animals."

Sebastian gave Dodger a reluctant pat on the head, stepping away nervously immediately after.

This cued a string of introductions, and within the space of about thirty seconds, Rowan and Etan met Scorpius Malfoy, Sebastian and Evelyn's cousin, who barely glanced their way before being shoved aside by a tall, lanky dark skinned boy called Christian Corner, who in turn introduced his cousin Samantha, and her friends Jenna Jordan and Claire Bell, and then it seemed like only a few seconds later that Hagrid was herding them all towards the water, warning, "No more'n four to a boat!"

Rowan hung back with Etan to make sure he didn't get jostled into the lake.

A few moments later, heading towards a single, bobbing boat, they noticed a boy stood at the edge of the dock, peering nervously into the water and shifting his feet.

"Do you need help?" Rowan asked.

The boy, who had a mop of curly blonde hair, shook his head quickly. "I just-er- am not very fond of the water."

His words sounded peculiar, and Rowan realized he had a very faint accent. "Are you… French?"

"I'm Enzo LeChance, actually," he replied with a nervous laugh, then backed up and took a running leap, landing roughly enough in the boat to cause it to rock and tip furiously.

He screwed his face up in a terrified grimace, clenching his own arms very tightly until it had stopped rocking and even then not opening his eyes, leaving Rowan and Etan to clamor into the boat, which started moving of its own accord towards the castle almost as soon as they sat down.

After a moment, Enzo said clearly, "Yes."

"Yes what?" Etan asked, confused.

"Yes, I'm French. I grew up tri-lingual and can curse in fourteen different dialects. My mother keeps soap from as many countries in the bathroom cupboard, just for that purpose."

At Rowan and Etan's confused looks, he explained, "So she can wash my mouth out. I'm trying to find a word she doesn't know the translation to, but she speaks seven different languages naturally and has a working knowledge of most others, so it's proving difficult."

"Say something," Etan challenged.

"Faire taire, connasse," Enzo replied, grinning roguishly.

"…what?" Etan asked.

"You don't want to know," Enzo answered, laughing. "Actually, I should probably apologize… that really was rude, and you're at quite a disadvantage because you don't even know what I just said…"

"So do it," Etan said. "In your third language."

"Le mie scuse più profonde, signori, non volevo offendere." He reeled off immediately. "My grammar's not perfect, but I also only speak Italian when I'm around my grandparents, so I haven't had as much time to perfect it. Here, allow me to say something more exciting. 'Guardate! Vedo la porta della scuola che…cresce più vicina! Merlin, I'm rusty. That was meant to be; Look! We're almost at the door of the school… I can't stand Italian."

_Why can I understand what you're saying?_ Rowan wondered to himself. He'd never spoken Italian in his life, yet he'd comprehended every word perfectly. Including the inappropriate, which would have had him grounded for months if he'd said it within hearing distance of his own mother, who had no tolerance for profanity.

There was a lot of shifting in the boats around and behind them, and Rowan began shifting nervously in his seat, watching Hogwarts loom closer. It got so close, in fact, that it seemed as if it would swallow them whole.

"Where is this thing taking us?" Enzo asked, his voice verging on panic as they curved and suddenly appeared to be heading directly for the wall of a sheer cliff.

It turned out that there was an inlet in the rock through which they sailed, long vines brushing up against them in a darkness lit only by the lanterns hanging from posts on the boats. They reflected on the water, giving the whole thing a very eerie effect. Everyone had fallen silent.

One by one, the boats floated serenely over to parallel a stone walkway alongside the water, and the first years inside climbed out, shivering from nerves and excitement.

Once they had assembled along the footpath into a shaky single-file line, Hagrid looked back along them, performing a solemn head-count.

With a nod, he turned away from them, brushing back a curtain of ivy to reveal an ancient wood door with a heavy metal knocker in the shape of a dragon, over a deeply chiseled crest. He raised the knocker and let it fall with a thud that echoed around the tunnel, seeming to ring on for hours.

The moment it faded, the door swung open, and there stood Professor Evander. He'd discarded the bizarre clothes Rowan had seen him in on the day he'd come to his house, and was now clothed in stately, elegant midnight blue robes under a velvety cloak of finest emerald, and his position was regal; imposing.

"Thank you, Hagrid," he said, and his voice, too, echoed around the tunnel. "I shall take them from here."

Hagrid inclined his head low, backing away as the first years filed through the wooden door.

The hairs on the back of Rowan's neck tingled. It was time.

* * *

Professor Evander led them down a wide corridor, paved in stone and with dark, portrait-lined walls staring down at them. Rowan found the steady thudding of Etan's crutches behind him rather comforting as the corridor grew narrower and darker, and then they rounded a corner and were led into a chamber, empty save for a couple rows of desks tightly packed into the back, and an elegantly carved podium at the front.

The incoming students huddled in the center, unsure of what to do with themselves.

Professor Evander stood beside the podium at the front of the room, clearing his throat to gain their attention. He waited until every eye in the room was upon him before launching into a well-orated speech about the structure of each of the four houses and the ceremony that was about to take place.

And then all too quickly, and yet far, far too slowly they reassembled into two lines, boys and girls, and were led down another small series of corridors until they came to a narrow door, probably at the ground floor of the school.

Filing inside, they found that it had been a sort of back-door to the Great Hall, where thousands of eyes were immediately upon them, staring as they stumbled in onto a raised platform at the front of the Hall, stopping just before a narrow wooden stool with a black velvet cushion, on which was placed a lump of material so patched, tattered, ripped and singed that one could scarcely tell that it was a hat anymore.

Beside the stool was stood a man, middle-aged and straight-backed, in dashing robes of brown and gold. His hair, a combination of dark blonde and light brown, with a thick shock of silver at the front, glinted in the light from a million candles suspended above him. He smiled as he surveyed the line, gave them all an enormous wink from behind rectangular gold-rimmed spectacles, and told them in a voice loud enough to be heard at the back of the hall, "My name is Professor Longbottom. The Sorting Hat will open the ceremony with an introductory song. When it has finished, I am going to read out the list of names. When I call you up, I need you to come forward promptly and place the hat on your head, is that understood?"

A few people nodded.

"I'd let you know which tables are associated with each house, but… I get the feeling that that will be obvious from the amount of cheering going on at said table. Are we ready?"

This time, he didn't wait for an answer before inclining his head at the hat and backing towards the staff table as the hat burst into a beautiful, flowing melody.

_This time comes every September_

_Hogwarts students gather in the hall_

_Yet few of us seem to remember_

_The five founders who started it all._

Five? Rowan thought. He'd only heard four mentioned.

_Gryffindor was bold and audacious_

_Intrepid, daring, and heroic_

_Some said reckless, but so courageous_

_Scarlet banner waving, strong and stoic._

_Slytherin was cunning; serpentine_

_Crafty and devious, shrewd and sly_

_A house once sequestered, now we sign;_

_Let the green and silver standards fly._

_Hufflepuff was diligent and kind_

_A reliable and trustworthy being_

_Always hardworking, others in mind_

_Yellow and black stripe the awning _

_Ravenclaw was sharp and discerning_

_Educated, bright, and accomplished_

_A greatest love of hers was learning_

_Blue streamers sway to do her homage._

_Arkenshaft was virtuous and upright_

_A moral and honorable man_

There was a sudden flurry of movement from the staff table; Rowan looked over to see teachers urgently whispering to each other, alarm evident on their faces. The woman seated in the center of the table, a formidable looking witch dressed in plum colored robes held up a hand for silence, her eyes intent on the singing hat.

_Trusted his heart to show him the light_

_So from now on the grey and white stands._

_As a hat I know what's in your head_

_The Sorting hat's not been wrong before_

_Right now I know you're lost and confused_

_Because you've only heard of founders four._

_I can only tell you what I'm told_

_Happened before you or I was here_

_Aren't you lucky that Arkenshaft_

_Left me with the details mighty clear?_

_Once the five were close associates_

_Until a tiff sent them separate ways_

_Finally four met to negotiate_

_The plan that leaves us here today._

_One day Gryffindor and Slytherin_

_Met with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw_

_A plan for a new school hatched within_

_Humbled by a nearly fatal flaw._

_There were thousands around to be taught_

_Yet nowhere to erect such a place_

_The four spun their wheels, feeling distraught_

_Till the day Arkenshaft showed his face._

_Acres and acres of land have I,_

_The fifth founder saw fit to propose_

_Yours could it be, from bank to sky_

_If to me you dedicate a house._

_They quickly agreed, and plans were drawn_

_Soon opened the first school of magic_

_From start to finish, the path was long_

_Such a shame the ending was tragic._

_Soon appeared German Haus der Magie_

_Followed by Den Trolsk Skola, Durmstrang, _

_And the Beauxbatons Academie _

_And Hogwarts's attendance shrinking._

_Soon each house had barely six children_

_The forefathers sinking in despair_

_Four spoke in quiet of what might have been_

_If only Arkenshaft wasn't there._

_Whispered plots turned soon to exaction. _

_Late one cold night, they forced him away._

_It was the only course of action_

_If the first magic school was to stay._

_Arkenshaft couldn't go quietly_

_Agreements had been written in blood_

_And so he declared most politely_

_That rise back again Arkenshaft would._

_A brilliant spell he cast upon me_

_So that I would know the day and hour_

_To sing a song the secret to free_

_That I may return his house to power!_

_So fledgling ones, listen, gather round!_

_A new era arises with you!_

_Slip me over your crown, snug and sound,_

_For a ceremony long overdue!_

The hall erupted the moment the hat had finished in flurries of whispers and intrigued, excited looks.

Rowan felt panic rising inside him. What on earth was going on?

The teachers appeared to be holding a hushed, furious conversation of their own. After a few moments, the woman in purple robes, clearly the headmistress, slammed her hand down on the table and shook her head, her facial expression clear. Anything from the time of the founders was ancient magic, not to be trifled with. There was nothing to do but let the sorting ceremony move forward.

Professor Longbottom moved forward, his scroll clutched firmly between his hands.

"Abbott, Rhett," he announced clearly, and a visibly shaken boy stumbled out of line, his face one of sheer terror as he took his seat upon the stool, the hat falling to cover his golden hair.

A moment later, the hat cried, "HUFFLEPUFF!", and the table to the center right of the hall burst into stunted cheers.

"Adler, Owain," Professor Longbottom said as Rhett staggered away, looking utterly relieved to have not been placed in the sudden, unknown house.

Owain Adler had pale, pale skin and hair and huge, wine colored eyes. An albino.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat called again, and he lifted it from his head in relief, following Rhett.

"Ansel, Caine," Professor Longbottom called next, and Rowan identified the boy from the wand shop with a sickening feeling in his stomach. It didn't surprise him when the hat called, "SLYTHERIN!", though he was startled when his brother was put into Gryffindor immediately following.

"Bell, Claire," a bony girl with long, shiny brown hair was made a Gryffindor, and the first years began to relax a little. Perhaps the fifth house had been someone's idea of a joke?

"Bennet, Caleb" was made another Hufflepuff, then "Breckenbury, Jillian", who looked simply terrified, a Gryffindor.

"Brenton, E- er- I'm sorry," Professor Longbottom frowned. "There seems to be a spelling error- is it Ethan or Evan?"

Etan turned positively scarlet, and Rowan was quite certain he would have been face-palming had he not needed both hands to maneuver his crutches up towards Professor Longbottom. "Etan," he muttered to him as he made his way to the hat. "E. T. A. N."

Professor Longbottom blushed as well, clearing his throat as Etan laid his crutches across his lap to perch on the stool, the hat sliding down to hide his eyes

"SLYTHERIN!" the hat shouted, and Rowan was still so torn between amusement, embarrassment on his friend's behalf, and bewilderment that a person so kind could have been sorted into a house with a reputation for being evil that he almost missed "Coleman, Jax!" being called to the hat until it was over the tall, lanky boy's head, the rip over its mouth opening to call out; "ARKENSHAFT!"

Every eye in the hall was immediately on him. Professor Longbottom gaped like a fish as Jax pulled the hat away from his head, revealing a tousled head of dark blonde hair and an utterly bewildered expression, both clearly having realized that there was nowhere for him to go.

Professor Evander leapt from his seat and strode forward, conjuring a shorter wooden table along the front of the room, leaving just enough space for a walkway between it and the other house tables.

Clearly mortified, Jax stumbled down to the table, looking almost pathetic seated at the long, large table alone, his head ducked when he wasn't glancing upward to glare defiantly at the rest of them, his face pale as a ghost.

"Copperfield, Toby," Professor Longbottom called, and the next boy, tall as well with a thick shock of shiny black hair moved dazedly towards the hat, his expression one of sheer panic.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat cried.

Toby visibly relaxed, though he cast a worried look at Jax, seated alone at his table.

It was almost precisely the same for Christian Corner, Ravenclaw; Samantha Corner, Gryffindor; Contessa Corren, Slytherin; and Amelia Creevey, Hufflepuff.

When "Evander, Samuel," was called, Rowan watched closely. He'd quite have liked to be in a house with anyone he knew, preferably all the boys he'd met on the train. Sam was sorted into Gryffindor, breathing a sigh of relief and casting a nervous look at Jax Coleman as he passed.

Listening to the list of students moving past him, Rowan began to truly feel sorry for the boy seated alone, feeling that he gladly would have accepted a position in Arkenshaft if only Professor Longbottom would call his name now and give the other students someone else to gape at for a while. However, he'd come to accept that with a last name starting with the penultimate letter of the alphabet, he was likely to be the last called. And so he kept watching, anxiously fidgeting.

Evans, Flynn was made a Gryffindor.

Everdeen, Paris a Slytherin.

Fenwick, Jesse a Hufflepuff.

Finnegan, Seth a Gryffindor.

Flint, Kenneth and Forrest, Ginger Ravenclaws.

Gladnick, Addison a Hufflepuff.

Greengrass, Evelyn, Greengrass, Sebastian, Grey, Alison and Hartman, Brian Ravenclaws, one after another.

Slytherin… Slytherin… Gryffindor.

Enzo LeChance, the boy from the boat, was declared Gryffindor after a few moments of deliberation, and then Malfoy, Scorpius… was put in Arkenshaft.

The boy, small and pale with large, hazel eyes and a somewhat pointed chin sat under the hat in shock for a moment before ironing out his features, standing, placing the hat back on the stool, and walking with his head ducked to the table, where oddly, he took a seat as far away from Jax as possible, at the end closest to the Gryffindor table with his back to the staff table, and hunched his shoulders, staring intently at the grain of the wood.

In no time at all, Montgomery, Eleanor, a Hufflepuff, resumed the staring ritual as she made her way past, clearly very grateful not to be put in the new house.

"Morley, Tabitha."

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Mueller, Sophie."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Olivier, Clarisse."

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Petersen, Klaus."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Peyton, Linus."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Potter, Albus."

There was an outbreak of murmurs from the crowd, something to do, Rowan presumed, with Albus's famous father, though he'd never been told what Mr. Potter was famous for. Albus looked nervous, but also oddly confident as he took a seat on the stool, placing the hat on his head and beginning to mouth, "Not Slytherin, Please not Slytherin, anything but Slytherin."

"ARKENSHAFT!" the hat bellowed after a few moments, and Albus froze, stunned.

Professor Longbottom waited a minute before moving forward, placing a hand on his back to nudge him along.

A boy at the Gryffindor table had stood, and Rowan recognized James Potter, his mouth gaping, looking utterly astonished as he watched Albus hang his head and stumble towards the Arkenshaft table, where he paused a moment before settling himself as evenly as he could between Jax and Scorpius, his emerald eyes alight with terror.

Rowan allowed himself to tune out for a moment as a few other students were sorted, watching Albus try to keep himself from tears, glancing furiously back and forth between his house-mates, neither of whom seemed about to announce themselves blood-brothers with him.

He was brought sharply back to earth as Professor Longbottom's face twisted.

He began to make odd, spluttering noises, tilting his head to one side.

Rowan froze. Was he having some sort of a seizure?

"Pur- Puh- Phur- Psh-…"

A boy, standing a few people away from Rowan, put a hand up in the air. Professor Longbottom gaped at him. "I'm sorry- I should have asked you earlier- Julian?"

The boy, who had longish, dark brown hair nodded, clearly as used to this as Etan was, yet finding it no less embarrassing. His pale face was rapidly turning pink.

"Przybyzewski," he told him, a blush slowly creeping up the back of his neck. "Sheh-buh-chev-ski."

"Right, yes- Przybyzewski, Julian," Professor Longbottom recovered, rubbing his forehead in embarrassment, though Rowan was pretty sure Julian, who was now a brilliant shade of magenta as the students beyond them sniggered, jammed the hat over his head and seconds later became a Ravenclaw.

The giggling settled down as Julian concealed himself in the depths of the Ravenclaw table and Reagan, Peyton became a Gryffindor.

Ratski, Cooper, and Ratski, Ember- either cousins or twins, he wasn't sure which, both went into Hufflepuff.

Samuelson, Hannah was made a Gryffindor, followed by a Ravenclaw, a Slytherin, another Ravenclaw, and a Gryffindor.

And then Thornton, Jessica, was made an Arkenshaft.

She had long, curly dark hair clipped away from her face, and wide, wide brown eyes. Trembling, she pulled the hat off her head, then glanced back towards the staff table.

Rowan followed her gaze to a young, trim male teacher with short black hair and precisely the same color eyes. He nodded once at her, an encouraging smile playing at his lips, and she turned around and made quickly for the Arkenshaft table, sitting herself at the end of the table, facing Scorpius and the staff table.

A little odd, Rowan thought.

Tollin, Tristan became a Slytherin and Turpin, Michelle a Ravenclaw before Weasley, Rose was called.

Looking at the hat as though it might bite her, she approached it, slipping it on to her bushy red braid and listening worriedly for a moment before the hat announced loudly, "ARKENSHAFT!"

She nodded once to herself, heading to the table and sitting to Albus's right, looking both afraid and relieved at the same time.

The Arkenshaft table was slowly accumulating a crowd of students, but it still looked amazingly empty next to the other tables. Not many people were left to be sorted.

"Wolf-Callinan, Rebecca."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Wood, Emily."

" ARKENSHAFT!"

Biting her lower lip but looking determined, blonde-ponytailed Emily Wood descended the short staircase, taking a seat near Jax.

"Wroclaw, Lindsay."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Yewbeam, Rowan."

Rowan froze. Where had that come from? There were still four others standing with him.

Moving on their own, or so it seemed, his legs carried him up to where Professor Longbottom stood waiting, accepting the hat and setting it on his head.

"ARKENSHAFT!" the hat cried.

Hands shaking, Rowan lifted the hat from his head and stood quickly, walking towards the table, his ears ringing.

Alright, he'd seen that coming. Sort of. But he'd never thought it would actually happen- and so…_suddenly_.

He reached the table, trying frantically to decide on a seat. He'd have liked to sit next to Albus and Rose, but he realized Scorpius Malfoy had no one else on his side of the table, and sat down near him on the bench instead, facing Rose and Albus. Then he twisted around to watch the sorting.

There were only four students remaining.

"Young, Martine," Professor Longbottom announced, then "Young, Mattea, and Young, Minerva."

All three went to Gryffindor. As they walked past him, one at a time, Rowan disregarded any notion that they might have been cousins, or even strangers sharing the common last name. They were almost completely identical, which he'd not noticed before only because he'd been looking at the backs of their heads, and they all wore their light brown hair a little differently.

Finally "Zalinski, Azure," the only boy left standing at the front, was made a Slytherin, and the headmistress strode to the front of the raised platform.

"Just a few things before the feast," she began, and Rowan got a good look at her.

She was older, perhaps in her late fifties or early sixties, with wavy dark hair pulled back into a clip behind her head and thin silver glasses perched on her nose. She looked pleasant enough he decided, if a little intimidating.

"For those of you who don't know me, my name is Professor Cordelia Longhart, and I'm the headmistress of Hogwarts. Welcome, all of you" she said in a warm, clear voice. "Most start-of term announcements can wait until after the feast, as I know you're all anxious to get started, but I feel it prudent to validate what has just happened. Amadeus Arkenshaft did indeed own the property on which Hogwarts rests, and history does suggest that there was briefly a fifth house at Hogwarts. I'll speak to you… _seven_ privately after the feast," she said, looking directly at the Arkenshaft table, "to figure out details, but I daresay that from this point forwards, Arkenshaft is a legitimate house. I'm sure you're all famished, so do tuck in."

Rowan was relieved to find that the same dishes seemed to be appearing on his table as the other four. The seven children glanced around at each other uncertainly, except for Scorpius, who kept his head bowed, his eyes fixed on his lap.

A pile of plates had appeared in the center of the table, and Rose leaned over and pushed one towards each of them, along with silverware and drinking glasses.

Rowan found himself famished, tucking in eagerly. After all, on what typical table could you find steak and spaghetti, chowder and goulash, baked potatoes with cheese and biscuits with jam?

Beside him, the boy called Scorpius had ladled a small portion of a cream-based soup of some sort and was pushing it around a bowl moodily, hardly eating anything but taking occasional furtive sips from a goblet filled with pumpkin juice.

After a few moments, Rowan said carefully, "Scorpius?"

The boy jumped, glancing at Rowan with an unreadable expression.

"Try some of the noodles, won't you? They're really good."

Scorpius only stared blankly at him with the same wide-eyed look he'd possessed ever since the sorting.

"Aren't you hungry?" Rowan asked.

Scorpius shook his head, his longish white-blond hair flopping around his face, then turned back to his soup, continuing to push it around without eating anything.

Across from him, the girl with the curly dark hair was doing very much the same with the contents of a baked potato, disregarding the bit of steak she'd put on her plate entirely.

Feeling someone else's eyes on him, Rowan glanced up, towards the Slytherin table.

Etan was watching him, sitting between an older boy and a first year Rowan thought might have been called Cayden Shipley.

Slowly, Etan raised his hand in a tentative thumbs-up sign, cocking his head at Rowan.

Rowan shrugged and grimaced, but then nodded.

Etan seemed to understand. Rowan wasn't quite sure what to make of it all, but he was alright for now. They'd just have to see what came next.

* * *

**A/N: Please do me a favor and review!**


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: I realize this is a week late, and I tried to make it extra-long to make up for it. Hope you enjoy, and please remember to leave a review at the end, to let me know how you feel about what's happening!_

* * *

**Testing the Boundaries**

**Chapter Six:**

Desert came in the form of mounds of cakes and tarts and pastries, great platters of chocolate biscuits and gateaux, bowls of ice cream and rice pudding and chocolate pudding and every other desert Albus could ever have dreamed of, but by that point the silence at the table was starting to get to him, and he found himself with just as much of an appetite as his classmates. Rowan, the boy who had sat with him on the train, was prodding a small slice of Butterbeer pound cake with moderate confusion, evidently having never tasted anything like it before. Albus helped himself to a slice of the same, slathering it with treacle syrup like he did at home, but Rose beside him hadn't taken anything. Neither had Scorpius or Jessica. The first boy sorted, Jax, was giving the selection of deserts a very wary look, and as Albus watched he carefully selected a chocolate biscuit, bit it experimentally, then immediately took four more, smiling. The other girl… Alison, no Emma… Emily, he was sure of it- was liquefying a scoop of vanilla ice-cream with the back of her spoon. No one said a word. Once in a while, someone at the table would glance up, and Albus found his own eyes darting away, afraid to make eye-contact. This wasn't how the sorting was supposed to go. This wasn't how he'd expected Hogwarts to be.

It was a relief when the plates finally cleared themselves, and at that moment, Professor Longhart stood up to speak.

"Your attention, please!" she called out, and silence fell almost immediately, students staring up at her. "I trust you all enjoyed the feast," she began with the impatient air of someone eager to get the formalities over with before getting to an important speech.

"Good as ever, Prof!" a voice called out from the back of the hall, seemingly along the Gryffindor table. Another, higher voice gave a whoop of approval. Albus winced as he recognized Fred, his cousin, and one of his little gang.

"Thank you, Mr. Wood, Mr. Weasley," Professor Longhart said, and Albus could have sworn he saw her roll her eyes. "A few start of term announcements. For starters, I am pleased to announce the return of the dueling club this year because of popular request. To run it this year after Professor McGonagall's retirement, we've brought in two volunteers. Our very own Head of the Auror Department, Mr. Harry Potter, and his godson, one of the most talented duelists Hogwarts has seen in a long time, Mr. Ted Lupin."

Albus grimaced at the outbreak of cheering that burst out at this news, though from the reputation of his god-brother and the fame of his father or the popularity of the club he couldn't tell for certain.

Professor Longhart said loudly over the clapping, "Thank you. They'll both be here once a week, beginning this Saturday, and space is limited, so be sure to sign up. Now, I'd like to remind you all that curfew for first through third years is nine thirty, ten thirty for our fourth through seventh years, and it will be enforced strongly. The Forbidden Forest is off-limits to all students, and you'll do well to remember it. Quidditch try-outs for second through seventh years should be scheduled no later than thirtieth September, you can anticipate more information on that subject from your appropriate captains."

Professor Longhart continued with a seemingly endless ream of announcements, everything from the recent banning of Weasley's No-Smoke Wet-Start Flame Throwers, Flame Sling-Shots, Flame Catapults, and any such knock-off merchandise, "Not that I should even have to tell you this.", to introducing a new librarian, Ms. Nina West, a young woman with honey-brown hair and a broad smile before concluding, "You're all dismissed. If the Arkenshaft students could stay seated for a few more moments, we would very much appreciate it. Thank you."

The entire school rose like a tide and began to move towards the doors, guided by the prefects. Albus didn't even notice his older brother fighting against the current to reach the table until he was almost upon him, and Albus braced himself for the lashing he was surely about to receive. Instead, James dropped into the seat between himself and Rose and asked in the most brotherly tone Albus had heard him use in a long time; "Albus, are you alright? What _happened_? What did you tell that hat?"

"Not Slytherin, anything but Slytherin," Albus admitted.

"There must have been some mistake," James decided. "The barmy old hat doesn't like kids telling it what to do, is all. You'll be out of here in no time, Albus, just let the teachers sort it out."

"I don't think so," Rose interrupted. "You heard Professor Longhart, this is genuine."

"Butt out, Nosey-Rosie," James snapped, sounding far more like his normal self. Then he said, "Look, Al, if this really is legit… I mean, if it's not some jerks playing some huge joke…"

"Well, James, are you, Fred, Louis, Jenna and Ryan playing some huge joke?" Rose asked sweetly.

"Can it, Rose. Although I wouldn't put it past Asher and his little crew," James added thoughtfully.

"Then wouldn't Sam be sitting here instead of me?" Albus pointed out.

"Oh," James said dejectedly. "Yeah, probably."

James's friends and his cousins showed up behind him, squinting up at the high table where the teachers appeared to be holding a quick conference, complete with rapid hand gestures and the occasional raised voice.

"You coming, J?" a girl with purple and pink streaks in her short, brown hair whom Albus knew to be called Jenna Coltraine asked.

"Yeah. Hey, give Ryan a sec, would you?" James asked. Then a look of complete horror came over his face. "Awe, shucks. Ryan's sister's been sorted here too? They're _totally_ gonna think it was us!"

Albus glanced towards Emily Wood, who was watching her brother warily.

"Nah," Louis said decisively. "No one's going to think a couple of second and third years hoodwinked the sorting hat."

"Potter, Weasley, Weasley, Wood and Coltraine," a voice snapped from behind them. "To your respective dormitories, please."

"But, Professor Longhart-," James protested.

"Mr. Potter, may I remind you that you have a credit of detentions to last you through Halloween, and we aren't yet four hours into the school year. Please don't make me write you up."

"Catch you later, Al, Rose," James muttered. Ryan clapped his sister on the shoulder, and Louis and Fred cast them sympathetic looks as they ducked out of the hall, whispering to each other.

Professor Longhart stood there, Professor Evander standing closely behind. The headmistress conjured a high-backed wing-armed chair with midnight blue plush lining at the head of the table nearest Scorpius and Jessica, sinking into it. Professor Evander did the same at the other end of the table, though his chair was straight-back and lined in emerald green, less frivolous and a little more intimidating. "Well," Professor Longhart announced, leaning forward. "this wasn't exactly what you expected from Hogwarts, was it?"

There was a moment's hesitation, then they all shook their heads.

"To be frank, it wasn't what I was expecting either," she told them, a warm smile playing at her lips. Albus almost found himself smiling back. His brother had told him a bit about Professor Longhart, saying only that she was "pretty fair", and "plays music in the Great Hall, sometimes", which coming from James was like saying she walked on water.

"I don't think any of us were," Professor Evander said drily. Albus wasn't certain what to make of Professor Evander. He seemed very likable, if a bit reserved. 'Hands out detention slips like candy,' James had informed him once. 'But then again, he hands out candy too. Funny sort of bloke.'

"Naturally, there are a lot of things to address," Professor Evander continued. "You'll have a head of house assigned, just like the other houses. Naturally we can't have an Arkenshaft alumnus, as Arkenshaft was discontinued over a thousand years ago and they're all slightly dead, but we'll make sure we find someone who can become loyal to your house, someone who can be counted upon to make unbiased decisions and so on and so forth."

"You could to it," the tall boy with the messy, dark blonde hair called Jax said, almost challengingly, "Couldn't you?"

Albus stared. His voice sounded funny, loud, and with a strange accent. _American,_ he thought. _That's an American accent._

Professor Evander locked his gaze onto Jax's, and the boy faltered uncertainly. "At this school," Professor Evander informed him, "You should address your teachers as Professor, or Sir."

"_Sir_?" Jax said disbelievingly.

"Yes?" Professor Evander replied.

"Oh- I just meant- uh-"

"He wanted to know if you could be our head of house, Professor," Emily said helpfully. "Because we, like…know you."

Both Headmistress and her Deputy gave the seven students identical, thin smiles. "Professor Evander is already Slytherin head of house," she told them, "But don't worry. You'll have plenty of time to get comfortable with your new head of house. We'll take a vote in the staffroom tonight, and we'll send him or her to introduce himself to you sometime tomorrow, alright?"

"You're also going to need somewhere to sleep," said Professor Evander. "Fortunately, such a place exists. The Arkenshaft Common Room is located inside the Astronomy Tower, and the elder Professor Forsythe is examining it as we speak, making sure it is fit for you to enter."

The question burned on Albus's tongue, and when no one else seemed about to ask it, he spoke up, "Fit for us to enter?"

At the same time, Emily Wood said, "The _elder_ Professor Forsythe?"

Nodding at Emily, Professor Longhart said, "We have two Professor Forsythes, a brother and sister. Professor Forsythe… the elder Professor Forsythe, by two years unless I'm mistaken, teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Professor Forsythe… his sister, teaches Muggle Studies."

Emily tilted her head in confusion. "So… wait, what?"

Professor Longhart laughed, an almost musical sound. "You'll figure it out once you have classes with them. Fortunately, Muggle Studies is an elective not offered until your third year, so we've managed to avoid too much confusion thus far. And Mr. Potter, I can't say for certain that any human has been in that common room for a thousand years. I'm sure the house-elves peek in eventually, as they're cleaning the rest of the castle, but do you really want to sleep on sheets that have been there since the school's inception?"

Albus grimaced and shook his head.

Jax cleared his throat for attention and said, pointing at the banners on the far wall behind him, "Do we have one of those things… _Professor_?"

"A crest? I assume so," Professor Longhart said. "Ted, do you have the book…?"

Professor Evander produced a thick, dusty volume seemingly out of nowhere and flipped through its pages, producing a faded image of a crest depicting a fierce looking bear on a stripy background. "Arkenshaft," he read aloud. "Founder, Amadeus Arkenshaft. House colors: Grey and White, House Mascot: Polar Bear. House Qualities: Integrity, Morality, Virtue-,"

"Alright," Professor Longhart said.

"May I see that?" Rose asked eagerly, leaning over the table to see the book. "House Gem, Diamond? Why does that matter?"

Professor Longhart replied, "In the Entrance Hall are the counters that keep track of house points. Professor Evander explained house points during orientation, I'm sure. The counters are hourglasses filled with gems. Emerald for Slytherin, Ruby for Gryffindor, Amber for Hufflepuff and Diamond for Arkenshaft."

"Are there any other houses that might pop up in the near future?" Rose asked a little suspiciously. "Amethyst for Goblinhook or something?"

"I think that's unlikely," Professor Longhart replied.

"As far as prefects go," Professor Evander said, "We're going to select two fifth years, so that they'll be able to stay with you for a whole three years. Hopefully, arrangements will be made so they will sleep in the Astronomy Tower with you in case of an emergency, and you'll also receive special attention from the Head Boy and Girl."

"My cousin," Albus said proudly before he could stop himself.

Professor Longhart laughed again, but it didn't seem like she was making fun of him. "Victiore Weasley? I suppose she is. She and Gavin Bradshaw, from Hufflepuff."

"Class schedules are being completely revised," Professor Evander told them. "Instead of having classes by your houses, you're going to be split into four even groups. This was a change we've been considering for some time now to promote house unity, so we're actually pretty pleased to be forced into it. "

"Excuse me, Professor," Rose said, clearly on a roll, "But our house ghost is listed as missing, presumed deceased. Isn't that a bit… well, obvious?"

This time, both Professor Longhart and Professor Evander burst out laughing. Professor Evander explained, "The difference between dead and deceased is complex, Rose, and you'll learn it in N.E.W.T. Level Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"It says here that his name was Arcturus Arkenshaft, and he was the Great Grandfather of the founder. He's buried on the grounds, but no one's seen his ghost since the house was discontinued?"

"Sounds about right," Professor Longhart said. "Do you have any other questions? …Mr. Malfoy?"

Scorpius didn't appear to have said anything, but he definitely looked like he had a question. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, then shook his head, staring determinedly at his knees.

"Mr. Malfoy," Professor Evander said shortly.

Scorpius flinched, looking up quickly at Professor Evander. The Deputy Headmaster stared at him, hard, for a moment before looking away and saying to the table at large, "We'll be owling all of your guardians tonight to explain the situation. I'm sure they'd all like an owl from you as well."

Professor Longhart looked suddenly angry, she was glaring daggers at Professor Evander, who was pointedly looking the other direction. She might have said something, but Emily raised her hand tentatively, and without waiting to be called on, she burst out, "But what about Quidditch?"

"What about it?" Professor Longhart asked.

"Like, how are we going to play it?"

"You're not," she replied simply. "First years are never allowed on house teams, assuming there is a house team. Perhaps in a few years-,"

"But there are seven of us!" Emily said excitedly. Her short blonde ponytail swung and her freckles danced. "We could have our own team, we could play in the championship-"

"Don't be ridiculous," Professor Longhart said stiffly. "A group of first years playing against the sixth and seventh years on the other teams? It's a thousand injuries waiting to happen. You'll have Quidditch lessons with Madam Bell, our flight instructor.

Emily might have protested, but at that moment the doors to the Great Hall cracked open, and a tall young man with longish pale brown hair and a funny sort of grin on his face peeked his head through the gap before sauntering into the room and up to the table. "It's all good, Cordelia," he said under his breath to Professor Longhart, so quietly Albus could hardly hear him. "The elves have been doing a great job. Couple spells was all it took- Elijah gave me a hand."

"Excellent," she replied, then much more quietly, "You tested for dark magic?"

"No familiar curses or enchantments," he replied. "That's not to say there aren't any _un_familiar curses or enchantments, but a blanket diagnostic spell came back negative, and Eli and I entered every room and are still very much alive."

"Always a good thing, Gabriel, always a good thing," Professor Longhart replied with a smile.

"Professors?" Albus asked, deciding it was useless to pretend the entire table hadn't been listening. "Why would there be dark magic in the Arkenshaft tower?"

The two Professors at the front of the table exchanged glances.

"That tower's been empty a long time, young man," he explained evasively. "Have we been introduced? My name's Professor Forsythe, and I assume you are-"

"_You're _the elder Professor Forsythe? But you've got to be, like, thirty!" Emily interrupted.

"I'm thirty-four," he replied, "Making me older than my sister. If you'd prefer, you may refer to me as the trendier Professor Forsythe, the wiser Professor Forsythe, the-,"

"Professor," Professor Longhart said sharply, "Perhaps you should hold this conversation later while your sister is here to counter your attacks?"

Professor Forsythe gave an exaggerated sigh. "I suppose you're right, Professor Longhart. Shall I take these children- Albus, Roman, Emma, Jack, Jessica and Rose, am I right?- up to their dormitories?"

"_Rowan_, _Emily_, _Jax, _and Scor- never mind. Yes, bring them straight up. Off you go, children, and get some rest. I'll see you first thing tomorrow morning."

As Albus clamored quickly to his feet, he glanced back at Professor Longhart. She seemed tired, he realized. He wondered what that meant. Professor Evander was midway through rolling his eyes, which Albus took to mean he disapproved of Professor Forsythe- the _elder, wiser, trendier_ Professor Forsythe. Albus wasn't exactly sure what he thought of him, but he was having visions of James and himself in twenty years, just listening to the man.

He followed him out of the room with the other students.

* * *

Panic tore at Rowan as Professor Forsythe sauntered down the long, wide stone halls, one endless twist and turn after the other, going so fast the first years had to jog to keep up. How on earth was he supposed to remember this? He'd never find his way back to the great hall.

After what seemed like miles, Professor Forsythe stopped at a door tucked in the corner of one wall. "This way," he told them.

Through the door was the start of a wide spiral staircase. They followed him as he climbed it, and about a third of the way up, they met a landing.

A painted picture of three snowy white owls soaring in a darkened sky faced them, and as Rowan watched, Professor Forsythe reached out and ran his finger along the length of the most prominent one's wing, declaring loudly enough for them all to hear, "Coalescence."

"What-?" Rose began to whisper, but Rowan saw Albus nudge her to be quiet.

The owls turned wing and flew in a loop around the portrait, which swung open to reveal a tall doorway with a rounded top, the entrance to their common room.

They had to fall into line and enter single-file, and the inside took Rowan's breath away.

The common room was round like the tower, and each wall was made of carefully interlocking pieces of pearly gray stone. They alternated with heavy white hangings and huge, clear windows with diamond shaped panes. A warm fire roared in an enormous hearth, which was surrounded by charcoal gray winged armchairs and low dark wood glass covered end-tables. Along the sides of the room were towering bookcases, silvery cork boards, and a replica of the jewel-filled hourglass described to them in the great hall, the upper bell brimming with diamonds. A floor-to-ceiling hanging banner of their crest billowed between two open doorways revealing steps spiraling in opposite directions.

"Boys on the left, girls on the right," Professor Forsythe explained. "Now, who here seems responsible… you there, Albus?"

The raven-haired boy flinched as he realized Professor Forsythe was speaking to him. "Yes… Professor?"

Professor Forsythe smiled genially, withdrawing from his pocket a platinum-edged mirror. "Take this, in case you or your classmates need anything tonight."

"A…mirror? Sir?"

"A two-way mirror," he corrected. "Just say the name of a professor into it and you'll be able to see them, and they you. Try to reserve it for emergencies, we do need our sleep."

"Right… thank you," he said uncertainly.

Without further ado, Professor Forsythe bade them goodnight, and the seven first years all stared, first at his retreating back, then at each other, unsure of what to do.

"Right," Jax murmured uncomfortably after a moment, glancing at the staircase Professor Forsythe had indicated for the boys. "I'll just… I guess there'll be a bathroom up there?"

"Yeah," Albus muttered. He and Rowan bade Rose a half-hearted goodnight as they followed Jax up the stairs.

It was a spiral staircase, with doors set at intervals along it, each leading to a dormitory. Rowan watched with amusement as Albus ran up the stairs, peering into each room eagerly. "There's six beds in each one," he told Rowan gleefully. "We could all have our own rooms!"

In the end, however, they all ended up together in the one at the top of the tower, which Albus, suddenly the expert, had declared to be the biggest with the best view - 'and a moon-roof! Beat that!

The dormitory looked much like the common room, all smooth gray walls and four-poster beds hung with the same thick white draperies. The headboards were curved to fit the curve of the wall, and there were three on each side of the room, towards the far end. Right next to the door coming in was a second door, a white-tile, granite, chrome and marble bathroom with three elaborate showers, a double sink, and a toilet fixture behind a stone divider. There were three ornate desks in the main room, each curved to fit the wall in the same way as the beds. Their trunks were in a precarious pile in the center, on top of a small white shag rug.

"Sweet," Jax said, the first of all of them to speak.

Scorpius Malfoy shrugged, located his trunk from the front of the pile, and dragged it carefully towards the furthest bed, near the wide window at the far side of the room. He stowed it carefully at the foot of the bed, then sat down on the smoky embroidered bedspread and drew the white curtains around him.

The other three boys stared at each other.

"That's friendly," Jax muttered under his breath.

Rowan took his own trunk and set it on the far bed across from Scorpius's.

Albus followed, flopping down on the bed next to Rowan's, fully clothed and with the curtains open.

Jax shrugged and took the bed next to Scorpius, heaving his trunk over to the foot and sitting down.

After a minute of the three boys sitting and staring at each other, Rowan stood up, retrieved his toothbrush and a pair of pajamas out of his trunk and made for the bathroom.

Jax looked at him. "You're _brushing your teeth_?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, yeah," Rowan said. "I don't want-," he started to say _cavities_, but then realized that might sound babyish. "I don't want to waste time doing it tomorrow morning," he decided, "because we'll have to take time to figure out how to get back to the Great Hall for breakfast."

Jax nodded, as if this made enough sense to meet his approval.

When Rowan returned, Jax had pulled off his robes and was already asleep in sweat pants, his chest bare, the hangings closed partially around him. Albus was still sitting on his bed, half-way into a striped, button-up pajama shirt. "I'll see you in the morning?" he said uncertainly.

"Yeah," Rowan replied. "I guess so."

He crawled into his own bed, nestled beneath the covers, and tried to sleep, but it felt all wrong. The sheets were stiff and crinkly underneath him, and it just didn't feel like home.

After a few moments of tossing and turning, he realized part of the problem; the light was still on.

He crawled out of bed and glanced up at the ceiling, where a candle-lit chandelier dangled above his head.

"How does that work?" he muttered under his breath.

A strange, muffled donging sound began to echo from the common room, and Rowan realized it was a clock, chiming ten at night.

On the final stroke, the light switched itself off, and Rowan smiled, pleased with himself.

There was still just enough light to see by, streaming in from the window by his bed, and Rowan let his curtains hang open on that side. Before crawling back into bed, he pulled a picture from his trunk of himself, Mum, Jack, and Nathaniel sitting under a tree in a park near their home and propped it on the narrow nightstand next to his bed. The moonlight shone on it and he stared at them as he drifted off to sleep, in his head recounting the adventures of the day in the form of a letter he'd write to his family in the morning.

* * *

_So, what do you think? Please review and let me know!_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: So... Having missed last week's update do to illness, this is really two chapters, totaling nearly seven hundred words! Enjoy it! And just a hint, keep track of the OC's and minor characters. They're all eventually very, very important. In fact, if there's someone you particularly like, review or PM me and tell me you want to see more of him/her. If anything's not clear enough, you can tell me that too (I imagine some charcaters are coming off as a little strange right now), and if you think the whole story's stupid... well, that's your opinion, I want to hear it. Please review, it really helps the story along. And a great thanks to everyone who already has, you've been very helpful! Now presenting..._

* * *

**Testing the Boundaries**

**Chapter 7:**

Rowan woke suddenly five hours later, the feeling of a night-terror strong in his mind, although he couldn't for the life of him remember what it had been about. He lay on his back in the unfamiliar, musty smelling bed for what might have been hours as his heart pounded and his mind held still. It was only when outside the curtains in the bed next to him, he heard a low scraping sound as another set of curtains were pulled back, and feet hit the ground.

_Albus_, he remembered. Sudden thoughts of the day he'd had overwhelmed him, and he quickly tried to place everyone he'd met. Albus had the dark hair and the funny green eyes. He was the one with the famous father, and the other cousin in Arkenshaft, Rose. Rose had a red braid and was good at chess. He'd ridden on the train with her and Albus and Sam, the Charms teacher's son and E-T-A-N Etan with his crutches and optimism and sarcastic sense of humor. Enzo from the boat, who could swear in a bunch of languages and the others in the funny new house, the funny quiet boy with the strange name, Scorpius, and the American boy, Jax, and the girl who wanted the Quidditch team, Emily, and… there had been one more… Jessica, with her curly dark hair, the girl who had kept quiet most of the feast. And the three Professors, Evander, Forsythe, and Longhart.

Rowan realized that Albus, whom he'd assumed had gone to the bathroom, had not come back. At least, he hadn't heard him.

Rowan slipped quietly out of bed. It might only have been September, but the flagstone floor was freezing, and he wished he had a pair of slippers. He found the socks he'd discarded yesterday and pulled them on, inside-out. Then he crept toward the other end of the room.

The bathroom was dark and empty. Where had Albus gone?

Rowan left the dormitory and found himself at the top of the spiral staircase leading down to the common room. It was so dark he could barely see his hand in front of his face and had to feel his way down the steps, tightly gripping the railing. Everywhere he remembered there to be a door, he paused, listening from sounds inside. The entire dormitory tower was silent.

When he reached the common room, he thought that it too was empty. The fire still glowed softly in the grate, casting dark shadows in the grey of the room. Then he heard a strange snuffling noise from one of the armchairs near it and realized that Albus was there, crying.

He came up behind the other boy and found him curled in a blanket on the chair, his dark hair a tousled mess, his eyes puffy and red.

He was crying?

Crying hadn't even occurred to Rowan. Jack said that big kids didn't cry. 'That's for babies,' he'd explained more than once. 'Babies can't use their words to tell us what they want, so they have to cry. Big boys like you have words to tell us what's wrong. Crying doesn't help fix anything once you can talk. So here- here's a tissue, take a deep breath and tell me what happened, okay?'

And yet he didn't think repeating this litany would help Albus much right now.

Rowan sat on the arm of the chair beside him. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

Albus was silent for so long Rowan thought he must not have heard him, but then he said huskily, "I miss my Mum."

After a moment, Rowan admitted, "I miss mine, too. And my little brother. And… and my dad."

"I miss my dad too," Albus said softly. "But it's easier without him because he works a lot… nights and stuff. He's Head of Aurors."

"What's an aura?" Rowan asked.

"Auror," Albus corrected. "It's sort of… they're government. He used to tell me it was his job to go and fight the bad guys."

"Like… a policeman?" Rowan asked. "Or like a superhero?"

"A combination, I think," Albus said softly. "The police are more like… the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and then the aurors are more important, more like… that Jake Bones guy…"

"The Secret Service? James Bond?" Rowan sniggered.

"Yeah! Granddad told me all about him once, he's like this muggle guy with a metal wand and he did all sorts of amazing stuff…"

Rowan bit back another snigger. "James Bond isn't real, Albus," he told him. "He's just a character in a book."

"Oh," Albus said, sounding a little disappointed.

After a few more minutes of silence, he said, "I miss Granddad, too. He told me all sorts of stuff about muggles. Like how instead of magic you use electricity to make things run. I- I don't know what Granddad's going to say, about me being in Arkenshaft. Everyone else is in Gryffindor, they always have been…"

"None of my family's ever gone to Hogwarts," a voice said suddenly from behind them, and Albus and Rowan spun around to find Jax Coleman standing just behind their chair. "We all went to the North American Institute of Magical Refinement, in New York."

Jax took the seat beside them.

"Why aren't you there now, then?" Albus asked.

"My Dad's stupid job," Jax muttered.

"Oh, he got transferred?" Rowan said.

"No, he did not get _transferred_," Jax growled.

"Then what-?" Albus began, but Rowan elbowed him. He of all people understood that fathers could be a strange topic. He was also realizing that snarling sounded oddly intimidating with an American accent.

"He got arrested, alright? He got arrested for dealing to teenagers, does that answer all your questions? And my Mom didn't have enough money so we had to move out here to live with my aunt and cousins and go to this stupid, messed up English school where even the weird things they said were going to happen aren't, and it's even weirder… The Institute doesn't even _have_ houses, you know. This is all just so dumb…"

"It is not," Albus scowled.

"Is."

"Don't fight, alright?" Rowan said quickly. "We can- Scorpius! Where'd you come from?"

Scorpius Malfoy was sitting on a chair at the back of the room, watching them with a blank expression. He shrugged. "I woke up, and the dormitory was empty," he said softly.

"And we heard voices, coming from the Common Room," Rose said, appearing in the doorway to the girls dormitories with Emily and Jessica.

"Merlin!" Albus exclaimed. "Can _no one_ sleep tonight?"

"Is that really a surprise?" Rose said, laughing hollowly.

She settled onto one of the couches, Emily next to her, and Jessica took a chair.

Rowan stood, pulling away from Albus's chair and settled himself instead in one of the other chairs, and before long he found himself nodding off to sleep again.

* * *

Rose's return to consciousness the next morning was slow. Drowsily, she shifted in her bed under her covers, reluctant to let the last flavors of whatever she'd been dreaming leave her mind. Gradually, however, she became aware that this really couldn't be her bed. The smell was wrong, the texture, the air circulation. The wall seemed far too close for comfort, and there was someone standing very, very near her bed…

With a start she shot up, nearly falling off the couch, the gray blanket she'd dragged downstairs with her the night before slithering off her. It all came flooding back, the train ride, Arkenshaft, dinner the night before and then the uncomfortable conversation with the blonde, freckled, Quidditch obsessed girl called Emily after the third girl had looked uneasily around the room, then given a half-hearted goodnight before closing herself in her bed. They'd all come down to the common room together, though, once they'd realized that the boys had congregated down there. Obviously, everyone had fallen asleep, and now… who in Merlin's name was that?

Rose swung her long legs over the edge of the couch, finally recognizing Professor Forsythe but feeling largely uncomfortable sitting in front of him in her childish green pajamas and grey dressing gown, especially with the bemused way in which he was eyeing her.

"Did you lot have trouble finding the dormitories last night?" he asked her, very nearly smirking.

"We were having trouble sleeping," a voice said from behind them, and Rose started. She hadn't realized anyone else was awake.

Rowan's pale, heart-shaped face was poking around the high back of the winged chair before the fire, his caramel hair tousled, his eyes strangely alert for… she glanced quickly at the clock. Six thirty in the morning. Especially when he'd been up as late as she the night before.

Rose flinched a little bit. She liked Rowan Yewbeam, she really did, even if he was quiet and a little reserved, but she found something about him a bit disconcerting. She couldn't put her finger on it, but he seemed… odd. And she hadn't heard him stirring…

The elder Professor Forsythe- the elder, wiser, trendier Professor Forsythe, did he have an ego or what?- was rolling his eyes, saying, "Well, some of you certainly seem to have slept. Would you mind helping me wake your classmates? We're going to head down to the Great Hall, where you'll meet your prefects and get your new and revised schedules before breakfast, alright? We wanted to get you lot down there with ample time, seeing as it is your first day and all."

Rose and Rowan nodded, and Rose moved first to her cousin, who was curled up in a chair with his head on the armrest, dark hair sticking up in every possible direction, drooling. She shook him by the shoulders and then, when that earned her no response, shoved him off the chair. Since turning ten, Albus had become increasingly difficult to wake in the mornings, and she wasn't in the mood to be as patient as Aunt Ginny.

She was nicer to Emily, nudging her gently. The other girl murmured something and burrowed deeper into her blankets, even as Albus picked himself up off the floor and scowled at her.

Rose darted over to Scorpius, whose eyes flew open the moment she touched him. "What the-," he murmured under his breath, quickly sitting up and looking around, flattening his longish tousled white-blonde hair with one hand.

At least someone was alert this morning.

Rowan was waking Jessica, whose legs drew up to her chest as she looked around wildly. Emily had gone back to sleep, so Rose shook her awake again, a little more forcefully this time. Jax staggered out of his chair, looking more than a little disconcerted.

Five minutes later, the three girls were dressed and ready in the common room with Professor Forsythe. Rose was winding her hair into a slightly sloppier version of its usual braid. Jessica's tangle of dark curls lay haphazardly down her back as she fiddled uncomfortably with the gray and white striped tie Professor Forsythe had handed her. Emily just looked bored.

Finally, Professor Forsythe said with great exasperation, "Would someone go and see what's taking the boys so long? Rose?"

"Sure," she said.

She darted into their tower, and discovered after checking every room that the boys had chosen the top of the tower, just like they had. In the dormitory, she found her cousin red faced and furious, his robes undone and his tie mysteriously missing, engaged in a very heated row with Jax that seemed to have something to do with the sports poster the other boy had hung over the table beside his bed. Rowan, fully dressed, was watching with a wide-eyed, deer in the headlights look, and Scorpius looked a little bored.

"What are you guys_ doing_?" she asked irritatedly, glancing at the poster.

The images of four relatively good looking, broom riding, white-clad young men swam across a logoed background of some sort, each brandishing a narrow white rod and grinning proudly.

Albus rounded on her. "He doesn't care about Quidditch!"

Rose stared at him. "Okay, Albus. Nor do I."

"But he called us stupid! He reckons some stupid American sport could blow it out of the water! He called Quidditch stupid!"

"Yeah, well, he said Polyball was asinine! What sort of eleven year old goes around using words like asinine anyway?" Jax exclaimed. His dark blond hair was tousled, his eyes blazing.

"She does," Albus snorted. Then, he gestured at the foremost player on the poster, a grinning young man with a wave of coal black hair and far too perfect teeth. "And I didn't say _Polyball_ was asinine, I said that fellow _looks_ asinine. Although, it probably is."

"Oi!" Rose said. "It's your first day at Hogwarts, we have our first classes in an hour, we have no idea what to expect about anything and we're going to be late to breakfast to boot, and you idiots are fighting about _sport_? Come on!"

"I'm not saying I want to be late to breakfast," Jax said immediately, pulling his tie over his neck and fastening two of the three buttons on his polo shirt.

"Right," Albus said, doing up his robes just as quickly.

"_Thank you_," Professor Forsythe said when they arrived downstairs a few moments later.

* * *

The Great Hall had changed since last night. It seemed larger, though that might have been because it was nearly empty, and there were now five tables spread out across its cobblestone floor, their orders changed since the night before. Five banners hung across the back instead of four, and Rowan was pleased to recognize the Arkenshaft crest, hanging between that of Slytherin and Gryffindor. The School Crest, hanging above the staff table, had been divided long-ways into five strips, each the color assigned to the house with its animal positioned prominently on it. Rowan and his classmates found two older students sitting at the end of their table, a boy and a girl. A set of papers was spread out between them, and their heads- they both had dark brown hair, Rowan noticed, were bent over them. However, the boy stood as they entered the room, coming forward to meet them with a smile. His short, straight hair was a slightly darker brown than the girl's curly ponytail, and he had shiny, nearly black eyes. "I'm Ari West," he told them nervously, "I guess I'm your prefect, as well as Zinny."

According to Professor Forsythe, Ari West and Zinnia Llewellyn were fifth year Ravenclaws and among the most 'mature and responsible' (Professor Forsythe said this with something of a sneer, causing Ari to look at him darkly.) students to have ever passed through Hogwarts. They would sleep in the Arkenshaft dormitories Monday through Friday, and have meals with them on weekends. Naturally, they'd have the passwords to the Arkenshaft common room, though no one else besides the chosen two and the staff would.

Breakfast passed quickly, and before long, Rowan found himself being handed a schedule with a dark number three on the mahogany-colored seal. He quickly glanced around at those nearest him. Scorpius Malfoy and Rose's boasted large number fours, Albus's a three like his. Everyone else at the table immediately showed theirs, and Rowan saw that Emily and Jax were twos, and Jessica a three.

They rapidly unrolled the schedules to find that the numbers correlated to their schedules. It was Monday, and they quickly discovered that double periods- periods that took up twice the amount of time as single periods, had them separated but they seemed to be together for the single periods.

Rowan read down his list of subjects, his tongue twisting over the unfamiliar words.

"Monday- Double Transfiguration, Herbology, _Break_, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, _Lunch_, Double Flying Lessons- which looks like it's half the year, so two of the sections, _Break_, Arithmancy, Double Potions?"

"_Arithmancy?_" Rose asked, leaning over his shoulder. "That can't be right. We don't have Arithmancy until third year."

"Actually, you do," Ari told them. "It was changed in my second year so that Arithmancy is a subject taken in all seven years, because it's required for so many jobs recently."

"But it's supposed to be really difficult!" Rose said, panic written clearly on her face.

"No, it's fine," Ari said dismissively. "You'll love the Professor- Finn Scalar? She's really neat. Some unorthodox teaching methods, but neat."

"What do you mean by unorthodox-?" Rowan started to say, but there was a sudden screeching sound as at least half the Great Hall stood at once and began to file out the doors.

"Classes are starting," Albus realized.

"Well, I don't want to be late," Rose said immediately standing. "Let's go!"

"What do you have?" Rowan asked as they moved towards the doors and were immediately caught in the tide of students.

"Potions!" she shouted, and just like that they were separated.

Rowan found himself surrounded by students, all taller and bigger than he was, all seeming to know exactly where they were going.

_Albus and Jessica_, he thought to himself. _Find them._

He caught sight of a dark head of hair, sticking up at the back like Albus's, and immediately moved towards it, but before he could get there, he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to find Professor Longhart staring down at him, her face framed by her wavy dark hair, a faint smile playing across her features.

"This way," she mouthed, her voice inaudible in the chaos.

Rowan followed her immediately, moving sideways through the crowd until they'd reached a branching corridor and there were only a few other students hurrying past them.

"I was wondering if I could have a quick word," she said to him as she ushered him through another corridor and up a blessedly deserted staircase.

"Um… sure," Rowan said, then added quickly, "Professor."

She lowered your voice. "Rowan, I just wanted to make sure you know that the teachers are aware of your… talents, and the complications that can arise from them. Everyone's going to be keeping an eye out, and helping to make sure you stay out of… how should I phrase it… turbulent situations until we know for sure how you'll be able to handle them. Professor Evander says you seem to be a very level-headed person, but these first few weeks at Hogwarts are overwhelming for everyone, and we need to make sure you stay safe. So don't be disturbed by it, or feel that we expect you to get into trouble. We're just trying to play it safe, alright?"

"Sure," Rowan said again, feeling slightly alarmed. What exactly did they expect him to do, blow something up?

"And believe me when I say, you're not the only one the teachers will be keeping an eye on. Don't feel singled out, we have quite a _variety _of students this year."

"…Oh," Rowan said. Professor Longhart was walking faster now, and Rowan struggled to keep up as she moved down another corridor, this one lined with classrooms and again full of students.

"You do have Transfiguration right now, don't you?" she asked. "Professor Thornton, he's your Head of House. I believe he's planning on spending some time with you in your common rooms this evening, to get to know you a little better. And… here's the classroom. You'll enjoy his lesson, students always do."

"Thank you," Rowan said quickly, "Um… Thanks for- have a nice day."

She smiled, winking at him. "Same to you, Mr. Yewbeam."

Suddenly, her head jerked up, and she touched him on the shoulder briefly before moving briskly down the corridor, barking, "Wood, Coltraine, Weasley! Don't you _ever _let me see you-"

Rowan ducked into the classroom she had indicated. Despite the fact that according to the clock hung above the chalky blackboard, classes should have started four minutes ago, there were only about ten people in the room, and no professor. No one from Arkenshaft was there yet, either.

Rowan glanced around for anyone he recognized. He had no idea who he could expect to be here. He at least recognized most of the faces, and that boy with the dark hair- his name was Tony or Thomas or something similar… And that girl was one of the Young triplets, he had no idea which one, but they'd all had names that started with 'M'.

But no one looked approachable. Everyone was already talking to someone else, or looking for someone else, or at least had a book out and looked happy where they were. Rowan chose a desk off to the side, and he felt immeasurable relief when he heard a steady, rhythmic thumping break through the chatter in the hall. Moments later, Etan's head appeared in the door, his crutches under his arms, a faded leather satchel full of his books on his back, seemingly making it difficult for him to navigate.

His eyes scanned the room, and relief broke out on his face when he saw Rowan.

Rowan stood to meet him in the middle of the room, and they took desks closer to the front than the back, in the middle of the classroom.

"So," Rowan said after they were seated. "How's Slytherin?"

Etan made a face. "It's a regular tea party. Half the boys in my dorm seem like jerks, half don't talk to me, one came up and asked if I just used the crutches for attention. A boy called Cayden Shipley seems alright, though… but he's not in this class."

"Wow," Rowan said. "That sounds awful."

"I suppose I'll get used to it," Etan said. "At least I don't have all my classes with them, and some of the girls could be alright. How about you? Did they tell you anything else about your new house?"

"Actually, they didn't tell us much," Rowan said. "Our mascot's a polar bear, our house colors are grey and white. Dormitory's in the Astronomy Tower."

"What about the other kids?" Etan said.

"I'm not really sure," Rowan said. "Some of them seem a little strange, but they do seem nice enough. Albus and Rose are there, of course. There's a boy called Scorpius who barely talks, he seems angry about something… same with a girl called Jessica, I'm not actually sure I've heard her say _anything_. And then Jax is probably all right, but he seems like a bit of a brat, and everyone keeps talking about Quidditch, whatever that is. A sport, I think? Played on a broomstick?"

"Did you say Scorpius?" Etan asked, and Rowan looked at him to realize his pale face was stormy under his mop of sandy hair, his eyes dark. "Scorpius _Malfoy_?"

"…Yes?" Rowan replied uncertainly, taken aback by this change in demeanor.

"No wonder he doesn't talk," Etan muttered. "My father knew his family… knew his family _well_."

"Yeah?" Rowan said.

"_Yeah_," Etan sneered. "If I were you, Rowan, I'd be careful. That's a bad family."

Rowan hadn't heard Albus come up behind them, and only realized he was there when he slammed his books down, looking daggers at Etan. "Not everyone's like his family," Albus told him brusquely.

"I realize that," Etan said darkly. "Believe me, I realize that."

Albus seemed to take this as an insult aimed at him, for he retaliated fiercely, "Well, we can't all grow up and save the world, can we? There aren't that many dark lords bent on world domination out there. Scorpius drew a bad lot of it, obviously, but just because he's a little reserved doesn't mean-"

"_Scorpius_," Etan snarled quietly, "Did not _draw a bad lot_. _Scorpius_ did not end up like _me_!"

Albus looked as if he'd been struck across the face. "Got a Death Eater for a father too, do you?" he asked quietly.

"None of your business," Etan muttered, though not as furiously. In fact, he seemed to deeply regret losing his temper, for he bent over the side of his desk for a moment, fumbling with his bookbag and becoming so flustered he nearly fell off his chair.

"Etan," Albus began carefully, "What exactly happened to your le-"

"I _said_, it's none of your business!" Etan snapped so sharply that Albus jumped back, and Rowan saw a few heads turn their way.

The classroom was nearly full now, Jessica from Arkenshaft was there, and Rowan recognized a few more faces though there was still no sign of a teacher.

"I don't want to be like him," Etan said under his breath, more to himself than to Albus. "I never asked to be a Slytherin."

Rowan was startled to see tears glistening in his eyes, which he wiped brusquely away, staring determinedly at the floor. _More_ crying?

"I'm sorry," Albus said quietly, his face red.

"I don't want your apologies," Etan mumbled. "I just- I just don't like to talk about it, okay? Does it really matter what happened?"

"No," Albus said quickly. "It doesn't matter at all."

"You're still Etan," Rowan told him, "No matter what happened to you before, you're still Etan now. E-T-A-N, remember?"

Etan gave him half a smile. "Yeah. Thanks, Rowan."

They sat in silence for a moment before Etan said in a much lighter, more neutral tone, "You asked about Quidditch? It's a sport played on a broomstick. It's like a cross between muggle basketball and football. There are seven players in the air, over an oval shaped pitch, and five balls."

Albus retrieved parchment paper and opened a brand-new bottle of ink to draw him a diagram as Etan listed the positions and their jobs, and the boys had just embarked on an explanation of the boundaries involved and the ways one could foul when from the back of the classroom, there was a shriek of terror.

Rowan jumped from his seat and spun to face the door at the back of the classroom. Two girls and a boy were standing on their chairs, everyone else had pushed themselves away, their features frantic. Rowan saw what they were watching and jumped backwards himself as the creature propelled itself up the center aisle with giant, leaping bounds, its muscles coiling under its thick fur, its yellow eyes wild.

A wolf.

Albus let out a yell as it passed them, Etan turned white.

Rowan uncertainly pulled out his wand, wondering if there was anything he could try, but before he could decide, the wolf reached the front of the classroom, sat back on its haunches and released one long, drawn out howl before screwing up its eyes and transforming, its fur retreating and shape changing very, very quickly until there was only a man, average height and thin, with long dark robes and spiky black hair, standing at the front of the room, leaning casually against the wooden teacher's podium. "You four can put your wands away, although I commemorate you on your quick thinking," he said nonchalantly, and Rowan sheepishly stuck his wand back in his robe pocket, glancing around to see Etan, who he'd not even seen draw it, and a boy with thin dark hair that nearly reached his collar- Julian Something from the sorting, with the long last name-, and the girl who was a triplet do the same.

He then fixed the class with a wide smile and said, "I'm Professor Thornton. Can anyone tell me what that was?"

Rowan recognized the boy at the back of the class who shot his hand in to the air, his curly blonde hair disheveled, a look of reverent awe on his face.

"Yes?"

"Really, really cool," Enzo said.

Professor Thornton chuckled. "Well, thank you. Your name, young man?"

"Enzo LeChance."

"Well, Mr. LeChance, do you happen to have the real term for what just took place? Not that I don't approve of _really, really cool_," he finished with a smile.

"Was it… animal to person transfiguration?"

"Well, it would be if my natural form was that of a wolf. Anyone else? Yes, Mr.…"

"Przybyzewski," Julian said. Rowan noticed he was sitting in the front row, and he winced as he said his own name.

Professor Thornton didn't bat an eyelash. "Well, Mr. Przybyzewski?"

Relief broke out all over the boy's finely-featured face. "You're an animagus," he said confidently. "A form of Transmogrification."

"Very good! You're a… Ravenclaw?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, good. Five points to Ravenclaw. Can anyone else tell me what a Transmogrification is?"

No one raised their hands. Rowan had no clue what they were talking about, and could only assume it would be further explained.

"No one? Do you know, Julian?"

"Yes, sir. A Transmogrification is a type of Homomorphation, the transfiguration of human beings. Transmogrifications are Homomorphations that a person is born with the ability to do or acquires the ability to perform without a wand. They're typically very difficult to acquire, so you must be very skilled at Transfiguration, sir," Julian finished, a note of awe in his voice.

"Excellent job, Julian, take another five points," Professor Thornton said.

Enzo raised his hand again. "Sir?"

"Enzo?"

"I'm not sure I understood a word of that."

Professor Thornton smiled. "You will, in good time. We got ahead of ourselves, there. I've got a lesson planned for today that should help to explain some of that better, but first, we need to take roll-call. Adler, Owain?"

"Present," Owain said, and Rowan was again startled by his pure-white hair and wine-colored eyes, tucked behind thick round glasses.

"Mind telling my your house, Owain?"

"Hufflepuff, sir."

"Good, very good. Any nicknames you prefer? No? Then Ansel, Caine?"

Rowan flinched as the boy from the wand shop stood and said innocently. "Heath, sir."

"Excuse me?" Professor Thornton said. He'd moved behind his wooden podium and was now taking notes on what Rowan presumed was his attendance sheet.

"My name is Heath, Professor. Caine is my twin brother."

"Really? And I presume your friends call Heath Caine and Caine Heath, is that correct?"

The Ansel boy looked momentarily wrong-footed before saying, "No, sir."

"And so I take it that you are indeed present today, Caine?"

Caine scowled at Professor Thornton before grudgingly admitting, "Yes, sir."

"House?"

"Slytherin."

"Good to know. Try to remember your name, next time, so we don't have a full-scale identity crises on our hands. Brenton, Etan?"

Etan's eyes were wide. "You just said my _name_."

Professor Thornton eyed him oddly. "I did. House?"

"It's just- no one ever- Slytherin, Professor," Etan said, a new-found note of reverence in his voice.

"For Merlin's sake, this is going to take hours if we keep up at this rate," Professor Thornton said, his dark eyes twinkling. "Copperfield, Toby?"

"Present, sir, Hufflepuff."

"Good answer. Nice and prompt. Corren, Contessa?"

"Present, Slytherin, and I prefer Tessa, if you don't mind," a girl a few seats away from Rowan said, leaning back in her chair and eying the professor curiously from behind thick brown bangs. She had a lot of freckles.

"Certainly. Evander, Samuel?"

"Gryffindor, and just Sam, please," Sam said.

Rowan hadn't even realized he was in the room, he looked behind him and shot the other boy a small grin.

Sam smiled back, and mouthed at him, _Isn't this guy the coolest?_

Rowan nodded, and by the time he'd tuned in to attendance again he'd missed several names, and Professor Thornton was marking Ratski, Cooper, a stout Hufflepuff with wavy copper colored hair present, followed by Ratski, Ember.

Professor Thornton frowned at this. "They were trying to keep twins in separate rotations," he said, frowning down at his list.

"We're just cousins, sir," Ember said. She too had copper-colored hair, though hers was straight and pulled back into a ponytail.

Professor Thornton cracked a smile. "Well, that's alright, then. Shelrecht, Steven?"

"Stevie's fine," the blonde boy said. "I'm in Ravenclaw."

After Squalor, Elizabeth, Jessica _Thornton _was called, and Rowan watched Professor _Thornton_ shoot her a grin and thought, _hey, wait a minute_…

"Present," she replied easily.

"And house?" Professor Thornton asked.

She made a mocking face at him before replying, "Arkenshaft."

Rowan wasn't the only one watching the exchange curiously, which Professor Thornton acknowledged by saying, "Yes, she is my niece. Yewbeam, Rowan?"

"Present, Arkenshaft," Rowan replied.

"And Mattea Young? I am pronouncing that correctly, aren't I? Mat-Ay- Ya?"

"Yes, sir. Gryffindor."

The girl was almost definitely one of the triplets, and Rowan made note of the fact that she wore her shoulder-length mousy brown hair in a white head-band, just in case it turned out to be important.

"Very good," Professor Thornton was saying. "Now, I want you to all take out your textbooks, and a quill, ink, and parchment. You're going to have an opportunity to earn some house points."

He turned to the chalk-board at the front of the room and said, "Now, can anyone tell me what class we're in."

For a moment, no one moved. Then, very tentatively, Enzo put his hand up. "Transfiguration?"

"Excellent. A point to Gryffindor."

Professor Thornton wrote Transfiguration on the board, then underlined it twice. "Can anyone tell me one of the four primary types of Transfiguration? Ms. Young?"

"There's… Terramorphation? Earth transformations?" she said uncertainly.

"Very good, five points to Gryffindor." He wrote it on the board. "Can anyone give me another?"

Julian raised his hand as well. "Ignimorphation," he said, "Transfiguration with fire."

"Five more points to Ravenclaw," Professor Thornton said, scrawling that beneath _Terramorphation_. "I do hope you're all copying this down. Leave room on the page, there's more to come. Does anyone know a third?"

No one raised their hands.

Professor Thornton waited a moment, then said with a smile, "As a hint, open your books to the introduction. First person to find it still gets a point."

Julian was evidently a very fast reader, because his hand was back in the air before Rowan had even found the introduction. "Aquamorphation and Caelumorphation, Transfiguration with water and air."

"Two points to Ravenclaw, way to go," Professor Thornton said, writing them so that it made a list with the other two all under _Transfiguration_. Now, keep copying as I write."

He drew an arrow from Terramorphation and wrote Botanimorphation, explaining, "Specifically, the transfiguration of plants."

Again from Terramorphation, he drew a second arrow to Alkalimorphation, which he explained was the transfiguration of metals, then a third to Marmomorphation, the transfiguration of rock.

At this point, as Rowan was still scribbling frantically, Enzo raised his hand. "Sir? Does spelling count?"

"Right now? No, I couldn't care less about your spelling on your notes. On any essays or exams? It depends on the mood I'm in. I'd make sure you know how to spell them, at least well enough that I know what you're talking about."

Rowan glanced down at his paper, quickly scanning for errors.

Even then, Professor Thornton was adding more and more to the board, so quickly Rowan was having a hard time keeping up. Connecting to Ignimorphation and Terramorphation was Magnamorphation, the transfiguration of magma as well as Flammamorphation, the transfiguration of flames. Osmomorphation, the transfigurational principle of osmosis and Aecormorphation, the transfiguration of the sea tied into Aquamorphation, and then Rowan lost track of the different definitions as he began to just scribble the words down onto the page, his eyes blurring from the strange terms and meanings and pronunciations and spellings, and his page filled with words until he was cramming in the margins, and had just considered flipping his paper over to continue on the back when Professor Thornton threw down his stub of chalk so it shattered on the ground and dusted off his hands, proclaiming, "Done!"

There was a collective sigh of relief.

Rowan slumped back in his chair, examining his handiwork. If this was only the first day of Transfiguration…

"Well done, everyone. I'm sending a roll of spello-tape down the aisle. Take a breather and shake out your hands while you wait, but when the roll reaches you, I want you to tape that sheet of parchment to the inside cover of your Transfiguration books. It'll be a sort of cheat-sheet for you because let me tell you, you've just made the next nine or ten months of your lives immensely easier. Chat with your neighbor while that goes around, you've all earned it."

Five minutes later, Professor Thornton had the board erased, and he faced the classroom again with a cheerful expression on his face. "Now. The first lesson in your books is the transformation of matchsticks to needles. This is supposed to be easy for you, because wood and metals both fall under Earth Transfiguration, the easiest and most common sort of transfiguration, and are closely related anyway. But I ask you, when in your lives are you ever going to need to turn a matchstick into a needle?"

The class stared at him blankly. Fortunately, it seemed to be a rhetorical question.

"The majority of you have at least one wizarding parent and have never used a matchstick before anyways, let alone a needle. I like my first practical lesson to be a little more, well, practical. Can I have a volunteer to the front of the room, please? Don't worry, no magic involved."

After a moment, Albus raised his hand, and Professor Thornton nodded, motioning him up.

"Pass these out for me, could you, Albus?" he asked, handing him a box.

Rowan watched as Albus peeked inside. He looked at Professor Thornton questioningly. "Chocolate?"

"Indeed."

As Albus began to pass out, Professor Thornton paced in front of the room, holding a square of wrapped milk chocolate in front of him as he spoke. "Now, I'll let you all in on a secret. I'm allergic to chocolate. We're going to be working with these squares today and tomorrow, so no one's allowed to eat them just yet. I'm going to teach you all how to transform milk chocolate into white chocolate. At the end of class tomorrow, anyone who thinks they've done it perfectly can come to the front of the room, and I'll test it. White chocolate is fine for me to eat, so anyone whose chocolate doesn't give me an allergic reaction receives twenty points for their house. However, be warned. Anyone who gives me hives is going to lose ten points, so you'd better be darn sure you've done it."

He glanced at the clock on the back wall above their heads. "That's the end of today's lesson. Homework, I want you all to read thoroughly the introduction to Transfiguration in your textbooks, and note the key terms. Find the definition of Transfiguration, and write it on the outside wrapper of your chocolate square. You'll be turning it in tomorrow. Great job today, group three, and enjoy the rest of your first day at Hogwarts. Tomorrow's class should be more fun, alright?"

The sound of a gong echoed from somewhere deep inside the castle, and everyone jumped.

"Pack your bags," Professor Thornton said with a grin, "I'll see you all tomorrow."

Rowan clamored to his feet, slinging his bookbag over his shoulder, his textbook and chocolate stowed safely inside, and checking his schedule.

"What do you have next?" he asked Etan and Albus.

"Herbology with you," Albus said.

"Charms," Etan replied.

"Do either of you have a clue where you're going?" Rowan asked.

"No," they said together, looking at each other.

They left the classroom as a group, walking quickly as they could in hopes of finding an older student who could point them in the right direction.

Of course, had they realized that five minutes later, they would be pushed into a corner with multiple wands pointed at their throats, they might not have been walking quite so quickly.

* * *

_Cliffhanger? You think that's a cliffhanger? Just you wait... there's plenty more where that came from._

_Please, do me a favor and leave a review. Short one, long one, all colors and flavors are accepted. : )_


End file.
